


A Defeat More Triumphant Than Victory

by mk_malfoy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Community: hd_holidays, HP: EWE, Het and Slash, M/M, Minor Character Death, Non-Linear Narrative, Rape/Non-con Elements, References to Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2012-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-25 14:06:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/639655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mk_malfoy/pseuds/mk_malfoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How far would you go to protect those you love?  Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are about to find out, and, in the process, Harry reminisces about the past that he can’t forget and a future he can only dream about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Defeat More Triumphant Than Victory

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Brief_and_Dreamy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brief_and_Dreamy/gifts).



> Written for the 2012 hd_holidays (their final year *sad face*) for melusinahp, who I adore to bits. Many thanks to my lovely beta, bonfoi, whom I can always depend on to give me her honest opinion. I did write several thousand words after her beta, however, so any remaining mistakes are completely my own. Finally, thank you to the hd_holidays mods, for their indefatigable love of and devotion to Harry and Draco.

**Author:** MK Malfoy  
 **Title:** A Defeat More Triumphant Than Victory  
 **Pairing(s):** Harry/Draco, Harry/Ginny, Draco/Astoria  
 **Summary:** How far would you go to protect those you love? Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are about to find out, and, in the process, Harry reminisces about the past that he can’t forget and a future he can only dream about.  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Disclaimer:** All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.  
 **Warning(s):** non-linear, allusions to het sex; allusions to attempted non-con; violence; semi-dark-ish; character deaths, but not Harry or Draco  
 **Epilogue compliant?:** No  
 **Word Count:** ~23,000  
 **Date Written:** November 2012

**H♥DH♥DH♥DH♥DH♥DH♥DH♥D**

After the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry Potter said he’d had enough trouble for a lifetime. Unfortunately, trouble hadn’t had enough of him.

**_07 May 2003 (Wednesday)_ **

> _As you are reading this, Mr Potter, you were clever enough to break through my shield and will soon be free to come to Miss Greengrass’s rescue and repay the favour of her rescuing you. You are so very predictable. I am not fool enough to believe you will not find Miss Greengrass, but finding is not retrieving, Mr. Potter, and you shall never get those things you seek, nor will you ever see the EDGE OF HOGWARTS again after today. Of course, you think you will have help in your endeavuor—you rarely do anything on your own—but do not depend on Draco Malfoy to save this day as he did the other. I have made it all but impossible for him to help you. If, however, he should circumvent the trap I set for him and make an appearance and attempt to play the hero once again, I do so hope the two of you arrive at the same time. I want you to watch as I kill him. It pains me to think of doing such—Draco Malfoy has much to offer and I could use him to my advantage—but as long as he has you pining after him, the boy will be useless to me. How does it feel, Mr Potter, to know people continue to die because of you?_

“No,” Harry whispered as he stared up at the last few words in large black letters as they faded into nothingness and left him shaking with anger and fear. If anything happened to Astoria … Harry shook his head. He couldn’t afford these thoughts. This wasn’t the place for him to panic, and he hadn’t the time to ponder what ifs, but Harry found himself doing both as he looked ahead at the formidable forest he would soon enter.

The path ahead looked bleak, but Harry knew it could be worse. He could still be trapped, without a hint as to the path he needed to travel, but thanks to the message, as infuriating as it had been, Harry knew where to go, which would save valuable time. Harry needed every advantage possible if he was to save Astoria, and he _would_ save her. If he didn’t, he could very well lose that which was most important to him. Harry attempted to swallow, but found it difficult to do so. He didn’t want to think about losing anything or anyone.

“Please be there, Malfoy,” he said under his breath as he carefully stood for the first time in two hours and regained his bearings, but he let out a perfunctory laugh when he thought about what he’d just said. Never in his life had he wished for Draco Malfoy to be anywhere he was, but never before had he needed the help of the other as he did now. 

And never before had he felt … what he felt.

As his brief near-manic laughter ceased, something akin to a silent sob rose in his throat and tried valiantly to escape, but Harry wouldn’t allow such to happen. He was on a mission and had no time to allow his feelings to get the better of him now. 

There was always later, but, if this time there wasn’t, then so be it. 

“I’m coming,” Harry yelled to no one, but birds that had been nesting in a tree on the forest’s periphery noisily scattered at the sudden onslaught of movement and sound, and Harry thought better of making any further unnecessary noises that might disrupt some of the more volatile creatures who lived within. There was a reason he and his fellow students had been warned year after year not to enter the forest. His meetings with the Centaurs and Acromantulas had been more than enough close encounters with the inhabitants of the forbidden forest for a lifetime, and Harry didn’t have a wish to see others.

If only he could Apparate.

He couldn’t Apparate. His near death of six days previous at the hands of the man he now sought had left Harry with a myriad of injuries, both magical and non-magical. The pain wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been days earlier, but it was considerable enough to prevent him from attempting an Apparition that could result in him splinching himself; he remembered all too well how Ron’s mere-second distraction had very nearly cost him his life.

With no other option, a determined yet haggard Harry pushed through the palpable pain that shot through his legs and back and began making his way through the thick thorny underbrush, skirting the sycamore trees and navigating the rough, rugged terrain of the familiar but foreboding forest as quickly as he could to get to the other side. Even with the short distance from here to there, however, it would take time Harry didn’t have.

If only he had a Time-Turner.

He didn’t have a Time-Turner. Harry cursed. If he failed in his attempts to retrieve that which he desperately needed to reclaim, the world in which he lived would soon witness the rise of another Dark Lord, and this one would have an advantage the former one never had. 

Overwhelming odds against success notwithstanding, Harry began to run as quickly as he could, the pain be damned. And when the pain in his legs became too much, he forced himself to walk a few steps, then he ran a few more, and then walked. This back and forth compromise of doom went on for some time—it seemed an eternity—and at the point where Harry thought he couldn’t continue, he heard a scream. It could’ve been from anyone, but Harry knew it wasn’t from _just anyone_. He tried to move more quickly, but it seemed the faster he ran, the more he hurt. Then there were the branches, limbs and leaves that slapped him in the face at every turn. 

It felt as if fate was preventing Harry from progressing, as if it wanted him to retreat, but there would be none of that. The way forward was not to go backward.

Another scream. Harry’s breathing more laboured, he increased his speed, but his legs felt as if they were on fire and his back protested as if it would snap in two at any moment. He wanted so very badly to stop and rest, but he couldn’t. He would reach Astoria if it were the last thing he did …

Of course, not five seconds after he’d had this thought, Harry stumbled over a fallen branch, rolled down a steep embankment and cursed as he felt one of the injuries on his left calf reopen. Blood soaked his pant leg. He cursed again. If this day weren’t already about as bad as it could be and if he really wanted to test fate, he would’ve made a comment about what else could go wrong. He wisely chose not to do so. Instead, he picked himself up off the ground and carried on, and as he made his way through a dense thicket, he thought about his warm flat and comfortable bed and imagined himself having a lie in. What he wouldn’t give to be doing that very thing. Had he made a different choice a week earlier …

Hadn’t he told himself it wasn’t a good idea to go see Malfoy?

If only he’d listened.

But he hadn’t.

Seven days previous, Harry had been going about his life with relative calm and happiness: he’d been an Auror in high standing, had brilliant mates and had been content in his relationship with Ginny, who was gone almost half the year with the Holyhead Harpies. Then, with one visit to Malfoy Manor …

Everything had changed.

To be sure, Harry was still an Auror, continued to have the best mates ever, and his relationship with Ginny remained as it had, but the whole of his world had turned upside down and Harry knew there was little hope of righting it. 

Bugger.

An owl off in the distance—the familiar sound of which meant that he had nearly reached his destination—thankfully interrupted Harry’s depressing thoughts and served to change the frown that had taken permanent residence on Harry’s face over the past several days into a small smile. He’d soon see Hogwarts. 

Not that this was unusual—Harry was at the school and in Hogsmeade often (he’d been there the week previous)—but when, after rounding the natural wending path that would take him from the forest and towards his destination, Harry’s eyes longingly took in the centuries-old castle, he felt a renewed strength come over him. It was amazing how just seeing the welcoming fortress calmed Harry, but as it was where he felt most comfortable, it shouldn’t be surprising. He lived elsewhere and would likely never again take up residence within the walls of Hogwarts, but no matter where he slept at night, Hogwarts would forever be home to him. It was, he knew, a cliché, but Hogwarts really was where Harry’s heart was. 

As such, it was ironic that Harry once again found himself back at the place he felt most comfortable, looking to do battle with another who threatened the very existence of the world he so loved, but he’d done this before and, if asked, he’d do so again.

Several minutes later, after getting close enough to the Whomping Willow to disturb its peace, the craggy cliff stood before him and Harry felt his insides going cold at the realisation that Malfoy wasn’t on the cliff, and again when he saw two figures fighting near the edge: _the edge of Hogwarts_. One of the two was small and the other was huge. Harry felt the weight of the world settle upon his shoulders. Even as Astoria looked to be putting up a good fight, sending all matter of painful hexes towards her would-be captor, Harry knew that would probably only last so long. As good as she was with her wand—and she appeared to be a skilled dueler—the other was sure to gain the upper hand sooner or later. Harry could only hope he reached her before that happened.

“Where are you, Malfoy?” Harry said, exasperatedly, as he pondered his next move.

The familiar pop of Apparition was his answer.

Draco Malfoy appeared out of thin air, disheveled. He faced the cliff, so Harry hadn’t a clear view of him, but it was easy to see that the left side of his face had what looked like dirt covering most of it, his left hand was scraped and bloody, and he was breathing as if he couldn’t get enough air. He stood motionless for a few seconds, as if he were lost and didn’t know what to do next, but then he turned towards Harry and stared at him with familiar eyes that looked as if they could see right through you. Most of his face had abrasions and lacerations, many of them from his narrow escape of a few days previous, and he looked dour, as he often did, but, as his girlfriend, or whatever Malfoy called Astoria, was fighting for her life not far from them, Harry couldn’t blame him. 

Harry stared back, unable to avert his eyes, and he let out a silent tirade of curse words at the unfairness of it all. Why had he allowed this to happen? Draco shouldn’t be here, attempting to save Astoria’s life. She was on the cliff because of Harry. Draco was here to save her because of Harry.

The enormity of the situation infused every inch of Harry and he took a deep breath and wondered, not for the first time, why it was always his family and friends who paid the price for him. He opened his mouth to say … he knew not what he could possibly say, but he shut it when Malfoy shook his head and raised his hand.

“Save your words, Potter. If it wasn’t for you, Astoria wouldn’t be on that cliff,” Malfoy said, matter-of-factly, his voice loud and angry, his face becoming redder with each passing second. He alternated between looking at Harry and the cliff, but then he turned towards Harry and the anger seemed to drain away. His face contorted into a pained look. He shook his head, shrugged his shoulders and began to speak, but his voice was shaking. He had to begin again. “Had this not happened, Potter— Had she not been involved in this— Had she— I think we both know where—” Malfoy opened and closed his mouth several times more, trying to find the words he needed to speak, but he gave up, leaving the rest unsaid. He shrugged his shoulders again as he continued to look at Harry, his chest heaving up and down. A few seconds later, he turned away.

All Harry could do was nod. Malfoy couldn’t see him, but Harry didn’t care. This was his fault. Every bit his fault. He hadn’t asked Astoria to save his life. It just happened that she had. Harry wished she hadn’t. “I’m sorry.” 

“Me too,” Malfoy said, his words barely discernible. “If she dies, I’ll hate you forever, Potter, and I’ll never want to see you again,” said a defeated Draco Malfoy before he began to run full out towards the cliff … and Astoria.

Harry, who fought the urge to call after Malfoy, took a few deep breaths and began running a few seconds later, this time towards not one, but two people he had to make sure made it through this day safely.

It didn’t take but a few seconds for him to realise there was no way he could keep up with Malfoy, and the realisation infuriated him. He was an Auror, accustomed to treacherous chases, and he’d faced more adversity in his life than he cared to think about. Now, however, when he most needed to be able to, he couldn’t muster the strength to forge ahead. He was worthless in this fight and felt as if he’d let everyone down. Dark wizard catcher … ha. Nevertheless, he renewed his efforts and ran as fast as he could to get to the cliff in time to help Malfoy rescue Astoria. Injured or not, Harry had a responsibility to Astoria and he would see it through. It was the least he could do for her after she had done so much for him.

As he attempted to pick up his pace, memories from the past five years and from the past week vied for Harry’s attention. He closed his eyes momentarily to rid himself of the unwelcome images that involved the two people he currently silently cursed, but that did little to help, and Harry found himself wishing he were a Muggle, whose memories didn’t tend to be quite so vivid and complete. Reopening his eyes, Harry continued running forward, his mind insistent on taking him backward.

_**1998 May 09 (Friday)** _

Harry hated funerals. Dumbledore’s, the year previous, had been nearly impossible for him to sit through. He’d made a vow never to attend another.

That had been then. This was now, and now had Harry preparing himself for his fifth funeral in four days for seven people. No one should have to attend that many funerals in a year, much less in four days. 

Before the first of those funerals—Fred’s, three days previous—Luna had reminded Harry of the vow he’d made, which, to be sure, he’d not forgotten, but a maudlin Harry had told her that _“There are those times in life when you don't have a choice. These funerals that are for two blokes who should have had their entire lives ahead of them, parents of a newborn child and a tortured soul whose protection has saved my life again and again,“_ were among those. 

How could he and his friends not have attended those funerals?

Not a one of them would have missed saying goodbye to Colin, Fred, Tonks and Lupin, and even Snape.

This funeral, however, was different. Harry wasn’t with his friends and he hadn’t come because he wanted to pay his respects to the two wizards who had passed, even though one of them had saved his life, for which he was thankful. Neither was he here to support those left behind. Or, perhaps he was, but he wasn't sure how he felt about this particular grieving person these days. A week earlier he hadn’t spared much thought at all for the one who was now somewhere in the crowd of witches and wizards milling about up front, about to say goodbye to his parents, but things had changed the night after the Battle of Hogwarts, and now Harry was confused and unsure of what his feelings should be. He wished he could return to hating the other, but he couldn’t. He could dislike him, however, and that he did. One thing Harry was sure of was that he wished Ginny, Ron, Hermione and the others were here with him. Unfortunately, this funeral was private, and only for those _select few who had been invited_. Just his luck, Harry had been one of those to receive an invitation.

He'd known immediately what it was that the white eagle owl was delivering, and Harry had tried passing the parchment off as nothing important, but Ginny had taken the invitation from the owl before Harry had a chance to get it, and she’d read it aloud. She’d read it and then, rolling her eyes, made a remark about how only Malfoy would send invitations for his parents’ funeral, and she and Ron had given Harry one of those looks that said he’d best not consider going, but they needn’t have. Harry had no intention of attending. Even if there had been a small part of him that wanted to see Malfoy and perhaps speak to him and find out if what he’d said that night after the battle was true, funerals were for those who cared for the departed, and Harry didn’t care. Not that he was unfeeling—Harry felt badly that Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy had been killed the day following the Battle of Hogwarts, in front of their son—but they hadn’t spared many good thoughts for Harry, so would they really want him at their funeral? Harry thought not.

Harry had penned his _regrets_ (there were none) and was about to send his response with the owl when Hermione walked in and told him he needed to attend. She'd said it was important that Harry be there. She’d then said something along the lines of that she knew he wouldn’t understand, but, in future, his gesture just might be looked upon with favour. Harry and Ron had shared a few choice words over that comment and Harry remembered saying he couldn’t have cared less about being in anyone’s favour. He'd come up with every reason not to go, but …

He was here and, as he looked around, he was heartened, somewhat, to see a few familiar faces (but no one he would approach and speak to). One face he didn’t see was that of Andromeda Tonks, who had refused to attend. She now had the responsibility of raising Remus and Tonks's son and she’d told Harry she wasn't about to bring him round his unfortunate relatives, alive or dead. Harry didn't blame her, but he did wish she were here so he would have someone to talk with. 

He felt very much alone and out of place, and wished he could leave—no one would miss him if he left—but as he was here and people had already seen him, he resigned himself to stay. As he stepped forward to find a place to sit, he could feel the stares and knew most everyone had to be talking about him: asking why Harry Potter was at this funeral. Harry, himself, had that very question. It wasn’t as if the person who had invited him wanted him here. Harry knew the reason he was here was his status. It would _look good_ to have Harry Potter attend. It would send a message that the old days were in the past and the future was bright, with a young generation to lead them.

And speaking of that young generation that this certain family wanted to put front and centre … the crowd parted and the person who had invited Harry came into view. 

Draco Malfoy stood, immaculately dressed in black dress robes, an animated silver snake clasping the magnificent cloak that had probably cost more money than the Weasley family had seen in their entire lives, beside the large dais—where two bodies lay side by side, atop a marble tomb similar to Dumbledore’s. Malfoy was speaking with a young witch Harry had seen a few times at Hogwarts. Harry thought she might be the younger sister of one of the Slytherins in his year.

Harry wondered if Malfoy and she were together?

But he didn’t care. Really, he didn’t.

As the crowd continued to disperse and take their seats, Harry watched as Malfoy approached one of the bodies and leant over it.

Harry felt cold.

What had seemed surreal and a bad dream became very real, and Harry momentarily found it difficult to breathe. The moment passed quickly enough, but the feeling of hopelessness that had plagued Harry for much of his life, before he discovered he was a wizard, returned. After he watched Malfoy move to the other body, Harry decided he should sit down. He didn't wish to watch Malfoy saying goodbye to his dad. No matter how much Harry had loathed the man, he had been Draco Malfoy's father.

Malfoy didn’t turn his head as he took a seat before the service began, therefore, he never saw Harry, a fact Harry was thankful for, yet, there was a part of him that did wish to be seen by the one who had been his sworn enemy for the whole of their Hogwart years.

The service began. Harry sat on the back row, his gaze never leaving the figure of Malfoy. As much as Harry disliked the other, the sight of him sitting on the front row, shoulders slightly hunched, occasionally lifting a hand to wipe away a supposed tear … it was almost more than someone who had lost both their parents at the age of fifteen months could withstand. Harry purposely allowed his mind to drift away from the sadness in order not to dwell on what was going on in front of him, and his thoughts took him back to the night after the Battle of Hogwarts, to the Shrieking Shack, where many of his preconceived notions about Draco Malfoy had been completely obliterated.

> _Unable to sleep, Harry found himself walking towards the Whomping Willow. Not one word had been mentioned about what was going to happen to Snape, and Harry felt uncomfortable thinking about Snape’s body possibly lying in the Shrieking Shack, cold and alone. It didn’t seem right. Not after what the man had done for Harry—he’d saved Harry’s life one final time. It was more than Harry deserved._
> 
> _Halfway through the narrow tunnel, he heard a sound. Footsteps. He wasn’t alone. Could Snape be alive? Harry allowed himself that thought, but he knew it wasn’t possible. Well, yes, anything was possible, he supposed, but this time, probably not._
> 
> _When Harry reached the room in which Snape had died, he saw who it was: Malfoy kneeling, an area of dried blood less than a metre away. Unfortunately, he faced away from Harry, so his expression was unreadable, but Harry guessed he wasn’t happy. Snape had been Malfoy’s Head of House, after all. and even with as much animosity that had seemed to reverberate between the two a year earlier, Harry knew Malfoy had respected Snape. Snape’s death, for Malfoy, was probably analogous to Dumbledore’s death, for Harry._
> 
> _Harry turned, his intention to leave. He didn’t fancy having a row with Malfoy, and there was no doubt that is what would happen if he stayed. There was too much history between them for there not to be one._
> 
> _The plan was good, but he must have made a noise because Malfoy turned around and called his name. Harry cursed. “Sorry I disturbed you,” he said, but he really wasn’t._
> 
> _“No you’re not,” was Malfoy’s cavalier response._
> 
> _Harry smirked and left the room. He would rather be anywhere else._
> 
> _“Yes, run away, Potter. You do that so very well, don’t you?” spat Malfoy._
> 
> _“You fool,” Harry responded, but he said it so quietly there was little chance Malfoy heard him. What Harry wanted to say was that he hadn’t run from death—that he’d thought he was going to die. That would’ve been the response he’d have given to anyone who cared, but it was useless to waste the truth on Malfoy, who would find the negative in Harry no matter what the situation. Harry stopped walking and turned back towards the room he’d come from, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to go back. He wanted to return to Hogwarts, but he had to admit there was a part of him that wanted a confrontation with Malfoy._
> 
> _“Why are you here, Potter?” Malfoy yelled, his words slightly slurred. “You didn’t give a damn about Snape until you found out whose side he’d been on. He loved your mother, so now what? You’ve decided he’s suddenly someone worth admiring? Sorry, Potter. It doesn’t work that way.”_
> 
> _Harry wanted to ask Malfoy if he’d been drinking. His words were beginning to slur together. “Oh, I think that’s exactly how it works, Malfoy,” Harry said, almost, but not quite shouting, “and I don’t bloody care what you think. Yes, I was wrong about Snape. I admit it. He wasn’t a nice person and he hated me, but he always looked out for me. I knew this, but I didn’t know why. Now I do. So sorry if my sudden change of opinion has tilted your world on its axis.” _And so sorry you’re pissed out of your bloody mind_ , Harry wanted so very badly to add._
> 
> _”Snape didn’t hate you, Potter!” Malfoy yelled, not quite as much vitriol evident as before._
> 
> _Harry walked back into the room, his head held high. “I would have hated me had I been him and my mother married someone else and had a son with them.” And why had he said that? Harry hadn’t meant to say that, but here he was sharing this with Malfoy. But, when he really thought about it, Harry guessed what he said was true, and he wondered if he’d be able to protect someone as Snape had protected him. Love and devotion to one woman was the reason Harry had been protected. It was an overwhelming idea to comprehend and Harry wasn’t sure he’d ever fully understand._
> 
> _“I think he wished you were his son, Potter, and, in a way, I think he saw you as the son he never had.”_
> 
> _Harry let out a mirthless laugh. Malfoy had definitely imbibed something that was now in control of him. If Harry had been sure of one thing during his years at Hogwarts, it was that Snape hadn’t liked him one bit. “He certainly had a funny way of showing his paternal pride.” Harry rolled his eyes._
> 
> _“You can be flippant about it, Potter, but Snape protected you from day one. He never gave me the attention he gave you.”_
> 
> _Harry couldn’t deny that. Even if it hadn’t been the attention he would’ve wished for, he’d been on the receiving end of Snape’s attention since the first day he’d arrived at Hogwarts. “He didn’t deserve to die, Malfoy, and he needn’t have. He didn’t even have possession of the Elder Wand.”_
> 
> _Malfoy let out a laugh, but stopped and shook his head. “No, he didn’t, and thanks to you not heeding his words to you of a year ago, now everyone who was near the fight between you and the Dark Lord this morning knows who does. Well done, Potter. My Father was practically foaming at the mouth when you made your little announcement.”_
> 
> _Harry froze, paralysed with fear. He’d been so insistent on showing up Voldemort and proving to everyone how very wrong the former Tom Riddle had been about everything that he’d been negligent in sharing information that he shouldn’t have. But the damage had been done. All Harry could do now was to act as if he wasn’t bothered by his lapse in judgment. “And you, Malfoy? How does it feel knowing you possessed the Elder Wand for almost a year, yet you hadn’t a clue? No wonder you made it through the castle that night without being injured. You had help, which made Snape’s job of getting you away safely that much easier. You didn’t deserve to have the help of Snape, Malfoy.”_
> 
> _Malfoy stood and stalked to where Harry stood. “You don’t get to say what I do or don’t deserve, Potter, but you aren’t so wrong with what you say. Last year, Snape tried to help me, but I was too proud to let him. I buggered it all up, but he tried. For years I’d wanted his help, but he never gave it, and when he finally offered it, I was too selfish to accept it. I sought his approval, but I never gave him reason to give it.”_
> 
> _Harry had no clue what to say. He was more than a bit surprised at how Malfoy was responding to him—it was alcohol, drugs, or something strange, no doubt—and Harry wondered if Malfoy had taken up getting plastered on a daily basis this past year to get through what he’d had to face. Harry might very well have done the same if given the opportunity. “He wasn’t a nice person, Malfoy. He saved both our lives, meaning he ended up doing the right thing, but he wasn’t a nice person. He was out for himself. Don’t beat yourself up about what you can’t change.”_
> 
> _Malfoy’s anger seemed to ratchet up a notch, and Harry sighed. He knew he should leave. He’d said these words to alleviate the building tension, but it seemed that his attempt must have been the wrong thing to say because Malfoy’s face now looked even angrier than earlier, but just as quickly, the anger disappeared, replaced with an overwhelming sadness. In all of Harry’s six years of being in lessons with Malfoy and playing Quidditch against him, he’d never seen so many emotions flit across the other boy’s face. It was disconcerting, but oddly enough, this show of emotion made Malfoy seem more human, and Harry found himself wondering how much of the boy he had got wrong over the whole of their years at Hogwarts. It didn’t matter now, but the thought remained._
> 
> _“But I do, every day, Potter. The one thing I want to change more than anything, I can’t. Snape told me each time he saw me this year that he would support me if I made my choice, but he was the only one.”_
> 
> _Harry shrugged his shoulders. Malfoy’s words were becoming more slurred with each passing second, and what in Merlin’s beard was he going on about? He wasn’t making any sense. “We all have things we want to change, Malfoy. Some we can, some we can’t.” This was getting weird._
> 
> _“My mother has threatened to cut me off if I go against her wishes.”_
> 
> _Now Harry really wished he could leave, yet, he was curious. What was Malfoy going on about? What was so bad that Malfoy’s mother was going to cut him off? Malfoy was out of his mind with grief and alcohol. He probably didn’t even realise he was telling this to his most hated enemy. Harry really should leave. Because he didn’t care. “What are you going on about, Malfoy?”_
> 
> _“Nothing,” was Malfoy’s sulky reply._
> 
> _That was exactly what Harry had expected. “That’s rich, Malfoy. Well, I’m off to bed. You should do the same.” Harry turned to leave._
> 
> _“No, don’t go, Potter,” said Malfoy, sounding desperate._
> 
> _Harry had no clue what to do. This was becoming strange and, just as Harry had had enough trouble for a lifetime, he’d had enough strange as well. He turned back towards Malfoy. “Why? You won’t tell me what you’re going on about. I think you need to get some rest and sleep off whatever it is you drank or took. Things always look better in the morning.” Harry didn’t believe such, of course, but he had to say something._
> 
> _“What I do is my business, not yours, and I can assure you, Potter, things will NOT look better in the morning.”_
> 
> _Harry had had enough. He turned away, but he didn’t get far before he was pushed against the wall. A warm body ground into him and a mouth and tongue tickled his ear._
> 
> _“What would you say if I told you I was a homosexual, Potter?” Malfoy whispered, strands of his hair brushing against Harry’s cheek. “What would you say if I told you I wanted to bugger you until you screamed? What if I told you I wanted to have you suck my cock? What would you say if I wanted to …?”_
> 
> _Harry waited, but no other words came. “Malfoy?” Harry asked, tentatively, not knowing what he should do. He was gobsmacked, but he wasn’t frightened. Perhaps he should be, but he wasn’t. “Malfoy?” Then the pressure upon him left. Harry heard a thud, turned around and saw that Malfoy had passed out. Harry called his name a few more times, but when it was evident Malfoy wouldn’t wake up, Harry reluctantly leant over, picked Malfoy up, carried him the opposite direction from the one he’d come and somehow managed to find an exit out of the Shrieking Shack. Once outside, he Apparated himself and Malfoy to the edge of the forbidden forest, then walked, the dead weight of a body making each step harder than the one previous, into the Entrance Hall. From there, Harry took him to the Slytherin common room, which was now without a password, as were all the common rooms. He carefully laid Malfoy on the sofa, found a quilt and covered him. Then he left, wondering what had just happened._

Coming back to the present, Harry shook off the memories. They meant nothing. Even if true, there was no way Malfoy would ever allow his feelings to manifest themselves. But … Harry was curious. _Could it be true_? Harry mentally slapped himself. Why did he care? He had Ginny. And it looked as if Malfoy had someone as well. The girl he’d been talking to earlier was now seated beside him, and the two were holding hands.

Forcing his strange thoughts about Malfoy aside, Harry could hear that someone was speaking of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy’s contributions to society. It seemed as if Lucius had played his cards well. It rather sickened Harry to hear such endearing words spoken about the two, but to most of these people present, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy had probably been upstanding citizens. 

They had only been horrible Death Eaters to those they didn't care for, and when it suited their needs, which, ultimately, had cost them their lives.

It didn’t pay to save the life of an enemy.

Harry forced himself to return completely to the present when the two bodies disappeared into the marble tomb, and he thought of his parents. Had their funeral been similar? Harry had no memories of that sad occasion; he had no memories of them. He’d had his parents in his life for fifteen months, but he had no first-hand knowledge of them. He had no memories of happy times with the two people who had given him life, which was Harry’s greatest sadness. He lived with the longing each day, and there was nothing that would ever fill such emptiness.

But Harry knew it could be worse. It could be much worse.

Malfoy had had his parents with him for almost eighteen years of memories, laughter, being cared for and loved.

Now he didn’t.

Git or not, Harry knew this wasn’t anything Draco Malfoy deserved. Nothing in his life had made it so he should have to be an orphan, and, yes, even at the age of seventeen, having no parents meant you were an orphan. 

Harry was cold; chills travelled up and down his body, and he felt ill. He couldn’t do this. He needed to leave. He was about to bolt from his seat when he saw Malfoy stand, turn and walk towards him. It had been less than a week since Harry had last seen him, but Malfoy looked different, and it wasn’t only because his hair was slicked back as he’d worn it in his earlier years at Hogwarts. There was a vulnerability there that Harry hadn’t seen before, but it wasn’t an unfamiliar look. Harry had seen the same from Dennis Creevey and his mother and father, all of the Weasleys and Andromeda Tonks. It was the look of loss, of grief that would never be assuaged. It was what Harry carried with him each day of his life.

What did one say to someone who had lost his mother and father at the same time? Harry froze. He needed to leave. Now. It wasn’t as if Draco Malfoy even wanted to say anything to Harry. The two had been enemies for almost seven years.

From their second meeting on the Hogwarts Express, when Harry refused to shake Malfoy’s hand, to their recent encounter in the Room of Requirement, wherein Harry had saved the other’s life, a requited animosity had seethed between the two. Yes, each had saved the other’s life this past year, but that had changed nothing. Well, yes, it had. There was no way it couldn’t have. Ever since Malfoy had failed to identify him, Harry had begun to reassess his estimation of Draco Malfoy, and it was scary to Harry to think about what had changed. It was an uncomfortable feeling, and now with the recent bizarre encounters Harry and Malfoy had had after the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry had no wish to confront Malfoy again. Regardless of how he felt, however, and Harry was beyond exhausted and emotionally spent, he would have to face Draco Malfoy.

After seven years, Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter had finally found something they shared, and it was the last thing two seventeen-year-olds should share.

“Thank you for coming, Potter,” said Malfoy as he approached Harry, but the words were forced and it was obvious by his tone that Malfoy was not at all thankful for the other’s presence. If one had merely looked at him and hadn’t heard him speak, however, one would think Malfoy’s words had been sincere. It was an odd combination of conflicting emotions, but Harry understood and didn’t take offence. It wasn’t every day a person had to bury both of their parents.

Those grey eyes, so full of emotion, were foreign to Harry, accustomed as he was to seeing Malfoy looking smug or angry. “I know I’ve already told you, but I really am sorry about your parents, Malfoy.” Harry nearly said _Draco_ , but he just couldn't bring himself to utter that name. He’d never called Malfoy by his first name before, and he thought this wasn’t the occasion to do so for the first time.

“No, you’re not,” replied Malfoy, and his entire demeanour began morphing before Harry’s eyes. A steely anger seemed to steal over the formerly sad, pale, pointed face. “What do you have to be sorry for? You lost your parents long ago, Potter. You don't care what happens to me or the people I love. You think me a spoiled rich kid. Perhaps I am, but I loved my parents. My mother saved your life and she paid with hers, and because my father was protecting her, he was killed as well, Potter, so, yes, perhaps you should be sorry, but I know you aren't.” That said, Malfoy spun around and stiffly walked off, his cloak billowing out behind him as he joined three other people seated by the dais that held the tomb where Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy now rested.

Harry, his heart beating so loudly he was sure everyone could hear it, turned around, walked as fast as he could and left the grounds of Malfoy Manor, wanting nothing more than to get as far from this place as he could.

**_2003 April 30 (Wednesday)_ **

“The Elder Wand has been removed from Albus’s tomb, Harry,” said Minerva McGonagall, her voice altered by the flickering green fire in which her head now bobbed like a buoy on the Thames.

A collective gasp filled the sitting room of George’s London flat, but then silence reigned as Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Luna Lovegood and George Weasley looked on with renewed interest and waited to see what the Headmistress of Hogwarts would say next.

As always happened when he received bad news, Harry felt a coldness come over him. It was a mild day in London, but Harry was sure his body had gone a good ten degrees cooler. He should’ve known that no matter how much time had passed, the wand would never be safe. His thoughts travelled back five years to the Shrieking Shack, where Malfoy had chided him for revealing that he had been the owner of the Elder Wand. For weeks after, Harry had worried that someone would attempt to get the wand and overpower him, but as the weeks had turned into months and the months into years, Harry had thought the wand safe. 

Now it wasn’t, and, by default, neither was he. If someone had gone to the trouble of taking the wand from Dumbledore’s tomb, wouldn’t they be coming after him next? Perhaps not, but anyone who had a proper understanding of wandlore knew Harry would have to be overpowered for someone else to become the true owner of the Elder Wand. The thought of such happening was bad enough, and Harry could only hope that whoever had the wand didn’t know about the Resurrection Stone or the Invisibility Cloak being the two other items that would deem them the Master of Death. Fortunately, for Harry, the Invisibility Cloak never left his person and even if someone did happen upon the Resurrection Stone and figured out what it was, it would do no damage to anyone … with the exception of the bearer’s mind when they discovered that which they thought they wanted wasn’t enough. 

As Voldemort had seemingly only known about the wand, Harry was hopeful that such held true in this situation. 

Regardless of whether this person knew about only the wand or all three of the Deathly Hallows, there was one certainty if history told Harry anything, and it told him everything:

The way to get to Harry Potter was through those he loved.

Harry cursed, wishing he’d kept the wand, but he hadn't. He had done as he said he would—he’d returned the wand to its rightful owner the day after the Battle of Hogwarts. Ron hadn’t thought Harry should do it, and Harry, though he initially had been in favour of returning the wand to Dumbledore’s tomb, had begun having second thoughts. There was no way of knowing who knew where Voldemort had got the wand from, and what would stop people from looking there again? Harry had thought the wand would be safer if he kept it near him, but Hermione had said that was a terrible idea and had insisted on returning it to Dumbledore’s tomb, saying that Harry would have to be overpowered for the wand to change its loyalties, so why have the two in the same vicinity? She said Harry needed to make it more difficult for others who might have plans for the wand, not easier.

“Do you have any other information?” Harry asked Minerva, knowing full well she would have told him straight away had she known anything more.

“Nothing that has been verified, but Kingsley is following a few leads; it seems there was some activity at Azkaban earlier this morning. Communication is sketchy, but it appears someone might have escaped. Kingsley attempted to contact Arthur, but he is on special assignment in an unknown location. He said you would be able to contact him. Please do, Harry,” Minerva said, then added, a bit of mirth in her voice when Harry’s frown increased, “That house-elf of yours, Kreacher, is keeping watch by Albus’s tomb. I told him it wasn’t necessary, but he said as the wand belongs to you, it is his duty to remain there in the event the person who nicked it should return to the scene of the crime.”

A small grin replaced the frown and Harry let out the beginning of a weak laugh. Amidst such unwanted news, Minerva’s attempt to bring some levity to a situation that was anything but funny had worked, and Harry nodded his thanks. Her words hadn’t changed his worry, nor had they removed his fear, but he was thankful that she always seemed to know when he needed a bit of a moral boost. Her motherly methods were always ones that made Harry realise how very lucky he was to have so many wonderful people in his life. He hadn’t parents, but he did have people who cared for him, and that was almost as good as. Not the same, of course, but appreciated, nonetheless, especially when they reminded him about the not-so-good things in his life that had unexpectedly turned into positives in his life, such as the gruff little house-elf. Kreacher would never be what others considered warm and endearing, as Dobby had been, but Harry had come to appreciate the diminutive, impish member of his extended family who resided at Hogwarts unless Harry required his help, which was almost never. “I’ll contact Arthur and I’ll be in your office at half three, Minerva. First I need to go to Andromeda’s and tell her to keep Teddy indoors.”

After he ended the connection, Auror Harry Potter said a hasty goodbye to his friends, assuring them he’d notify them as soon as he knew anything, then left to Disapparate behind George’s flat. Once outside, he decided it prudent to first send his Patronus to Arthur, who he knew to be in Leeds doing background research on a case the Unspeakables had been working on for the past fortnight, and relay the message about the missing wand. That done, he had every intention of going to Andromeda’s, but a thought occurred to him and his plans changed. 

Draco Malfoy more than likely wouldn’t have any information about who had stolen the wand, but Harry needed to find out. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

Malfoy was the absolute last person Harry wanted to think about. Harry had enjoyed almost five years of Malfoy-free living, and it had done him a world of good. Time was a great healer, and, though Harry was five years into that healing process from such a tumultuous period, he thought it might take a lifetime to get over what Malfoy had done to him … not only at the funeral, where Malfoy had angered Harry more than he thought possible, but the day his parents had died, which wasn’t a memory that angered Harry as much as it saddened and perplexed him and made him question himself. It was a memory Harry both loathed and held on to, and he told himself he had no idea why he did the latter.

But he did know, and he did hold on.

> _Harry returned to the Shrieking Shack. He didn’t know why—Snape’s body hadn’t been there the night before—but Harry thought he should go and talk to Snape, and there was no better place to do so. It wasn’t as if Harry could go talk to the real Snape, who was in some sterile Ministry room, lying on a table, lifeless._
> 
> _He entered the room and sat before the dried blood. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” That’s all he said, and ten minutes later, when he stood and turned to leave, Malfoy was staring at him. His eyes were red and it looked as though he’d been crying. “Wha—“ Harry began to say._
> 
> _“I hate you,” Malfoy spat with the utmost contempt._
> 
> _Harry shrugged his shoulders. That was nothing new._
> 
> _“My mother and father were killed an hour ago, Potter. It seems my mother lied to the Dark Lord about you being dead. Her punishment was death. My father attempted to block the curses sent to her and he was killed as well.” Malfoy’s entire body shook._
> 
> _Harry shook his head. No. This couldn’t have happened. He could feel his heart beating so hard he was sure it would burst. He opened his mouth to say something, but there was nothing to say. No. This couldn’t have happened. But Harry knew it had. Hadn’t Ron mentioned something the night previous about Malfoy’s’s mum being lucky if she lasted a day? Harry hadn’t paid the comment much attention. “I’m so—“_
> 
> _“Save it, Potter. No. You are not sorry!” Malfoy shouted, his face becoming redder with each passing second._
> 
> _“How in the bloody hell do you know if I’m sorry or not, Malfoy? Can you read minds? I don’t care what you think. I’m sorry they died. Really, I am.”_
> 
> _Malfoy laughed, but it was the laugh of someone who would rather be crying. “How does it feel to have others die because of you? So many of them. Because of you. Yet here you stand, alive and well.”_
> 
> _Harry felt terrible about Malfoy’s parents, but he wasn’t about to let Malfoy dress him down for those things he had no control over, and he refused to allow Malfoy to see him cry, and the tears were near. So very near. He walked past Malfoy, but as had happened the night before, Harry was pushed against the wall, but this time no words were spoken. He simply felt pressure against his body, and then he felt Malfoy beginning to frot against him. Harry could hear the other madly laughing. Harry had had enough. He bucked backward, pushed Malfoy off him, turned around and glared at him. After a few seconds, Malfoy backed away and left the room._
> 
> _Harry was furious and … harder than he had ever been._

And he’d not been that hard since.

Harry took a deep breath. It seemed as though Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter were destined to meet again.

He sent his Patronus to Andromeda and told her to keep Teddy inside and to not open the door for anyone, and that he would stop by later to explain what was going on. He felt bad for not going to her house immediately; he owed Teddy a visit, but he needed to talk to Malfoy, and he had to do so whilst he was in the mood. Nobody brought out Harry’s bad temper as Malfoy did.

Ten minutes later, Harry reluctantly knocked on the door of Malfoy Manor, somewhat surprised that he’d been allowed entrance onto the grounds. He had assumed the manor would’ve been warded, but it wasn’t, and Harry didn’t much care why. When the door opened several seconds later, the girl Harry had seen at the funeral stood before him, a look of surprise on her face. She wasn’t the only one. Harry had to close his mouth so his jaw wouldn’t drop. The girl, not as pale as Malfoy, but still pasty-looking, was clad in a black button down satin shirt—probably one of Malfoy’s—and nothing else, and Harry would have had to be blind not to admire her long, shapely body, jiggly bits included. Her nipples, erect, made their presence known. It was obvious what she and Malfoy had been up to. Harry had to give it to his foe. He knew how to pick them. As beautiful as this girl was, however, she paled in comparison to Ginny.

“Mr Potter. What brings you here?” asked the smiling girl, a few strands of her long brunette hair falling into almond-shaped brown eyes. A dainty hand reached up and long elegant fingers tucked the loose hair behind her right ear. 

“I need to speak to Draco,” replied a slightly unnerved Harry. He wasn’t overly surprised the girl knew his name. Who in their world didn’t? But the fact that he had used Malfoy’s real name didn’t seem right and did more to unsettle Harry than bing in the presence of the half-naked girl ever would. Nevertheless, Harry had thought that using Malfoy’s first name might make the girl understand that this visit was important.

“Yes, I rather imagined you would,” the girl said, the small smile on her lips disappearing, replaced with a frown. “He was talking about you earlier. He talks about you quite a bit, actually. I think he has a thing for you,” she added, looking none too pleased. “He’s in the shower, but he shan’t be long. Follow me. You may wait for him in the drawing room, Mr Potter.”

As the girl opened the large wooden door to the drawing room, everything currently running through Harry’s mind—Malfoy having a _thing for him_ being the thought at the forefront—was pushed to the back. 

_The room_. 

Harry had hoped to never see it again. Flashes of memory popped into his mind: Hermione screaming. Malfoy failing to identify him. A knife hurling towards Dobby. Harry squeezed out the thoughts, but that was never successful, and he felt uneasy as he sat on the sofa. Even with the noticeable differences that had taken over the room: the absence of the table, the addition of portraits, a sofa, a love seat, an old bureau, lighter colour schemes, and chairs on either side of the fireplace, Harry didn’t like this room, and he liked it even less when the girl left him alone.

How could Malfoy live here? Harry knew he hadn’t had a happy sixth and seventh year. It must have been a difficult time for him, yet he lived here all these years later and had to be reminded of that time each day of his life. 

Harry couldn’t have stayed.

He pushed away the thought that Malfoy hadn’t a choice to the back of his mind.

“Potter.”

Harry turned to face the large wooden door and saw the figure of Draco Malfoy entering. “Malfoy,” he said, trying very hard to keep his voice emotionless. He’d vowed long ago to never again waste emotions on Malfoy.

“To what do I owe this visit, _Auror Potter_? Astoria tells me you wish to speak to me,” said a smug Malfoy as he took a seat in one of the wingback chairs that flanked the fireplace. He waved his wand and a house-elf appeared. “Bring Mr Potter and me tea and biscuits, and _not_ the vanilla ones. Mother preferred those, not I. If you and your sister continue to insist on serving me my mother’s preferences, I might just slip the two of you a pair of socks. That would teach you. Now off with you,” he said, supremely, before returning his attention to his guest.

Harry didn’t miss the way Malfoy flourished his wand as if he were showing off. Of course he was. It was the wand Harry had won off him … in this very room. Harry had thought about snapping it in two and sending it to Malfoy that way, but he’d thought better of that idea and had reluctantly sent Malfoy his wand, unsnapped, via owl a few days after the funeral for his parents. With that one final gesture, he had hoped to be shot of Malfoy for good. 

Fate had other plans.

“I need to ask you a few questions,” replied Harry, as he watched the house-elf disappear. Malfoy didn’t look much different from last time Harry had seen him. His hair was short—Harry had wondered if the son would follow in the father’s footsteps and wear his hair long—but, his face had matured and now had no signs of youth. It looked as if he might have put on a few pounds, but he was still thin and pale, and his eyes seemed more hollowed and haunted. His face was, for the most part, hairless, but it did look as if he had a bit of stubble on his chin. 

It was a good look on him. 

Harry chided himself for the thought and for giving Malfoy a once-over, but he couldn’t help but notice Malfoy doing the same with him, so Harry didn’t feel too bad for continuing his assessment of Malfoy at the age of twenty-two. His white shirt, only three-quarters buttoned, showed a hairless chest with creamy skin, and an Adam’s-apple that was currently in the middle of a swallow. Rumpled jeans told Harry a story in itself. Malfoy was doing just fine. He had a beautiful girl, who was obviously treating him well. Shower or not, Malfoy had likely thrown on what he’d been wearing before he and Astoria had done whatever they’d been in the middle of when Harry had arrived. Harry grinned at the thought and only felt mild regret for his bad timing. “Sorry to interrupt. From all appearances, I came at a rather inopportune time.”

Malfoy laughed a hearty, but brief laugh, and winked. “As did I, Potter, but, no harm. Your bad timing insures that I’ll be one happy and satisfied bloke tonight.” Then Malfoy’s demeanour switched and he was steely-eyed and serious. “Ask your questions, Potter. I’d like to get back to what I was doing.”

“The Elder Wand’s gone missing,” Harry said, careful not to sound accusatory. He wasn’t here to point fingers and he didn’t want Malfoy to think otherwise. He was here for information, however, and from the look on Malfoy’s face, it looked as if he might have some. Harry hoped so. Perhaps Malfoy knew if there had been an escape from Azkaban. He opened his mouth to ask, but paused when the house-elf entered with tea and biscuits. Malfoy examined the biscuits and dismissed the house-elf that reminded Harry of Winky. Malfoy poured tea into a cup and after Harry said he wanted one sugar, added it and sent the cup to Harry, along with three chocolate biscuits. He then poured himself a cup, took a sip, and nodded for Harry to continue. “Do you know who might’ve taken it, Malfoy?” Further change in Malfoy’s demeanour strengthened Harry’s hope. 

“Being an _Auror_ , Potter, I’m surprised you’re here asking me. As I’ve suspected for some time, our Aurors seem not quite up to the standards of yesteryear. Perhaps our Minister for Magic has become blasé about these things. A changing of the guard is needed. However, as long as Shacklebolt is the Minister, and as long as he has you to parade around as the poster boy for Aurors and security in our world, nothing will change. As to your question, Rodolphus Lestrange escaped from Azkaban earlier this morning. Although I have no proof, I would say he’s your man, Potter.”

“How d—” Harry began but stopped. Malfoy was shaking his head. Harry wanted to slap him across the face. Malfoy had to be the most infuriating person ever, but Harry needed information, so he bit his tongue.

“I mightn’t run with the same crowd as before, Potter, but I do have my ways of finding out what’s going on. And don’t even think of asking me how. That’s none of your business.”

Harry wasn’t at all concerned with how Malfoy had found out. All that mattered was that they now had a suspect. Rodolphus Lestrange was about the last person he or anyone else would want to have access to the Elder Wand and Harry was momentarily overcome with a tremor of fear as he thought about how bad this could end up being, but he pushed it aside. This—catching dark wizards—was why Harry had become an Auror. He would protect those he loved. To do so, however, he’d need to get word to Kingsley and then Arthur, but he had an idea that they probably knew by now. It was a given that Molly would be one of those Lestrange would go after and Harry wouldn’t allow that to happen. “Excuse me, Malfoy. I need to step outside to send a few messages.”

Twenty minutes later Harry returned and was somewhat pleased to see Malfoy hadn’t left the room. On the contrary, he was now stretched out on the sofa, his pale, bare feet crossed at the ankles. He looked relaxed and as arrogant as ever, a smirk appearing on his thin lips. Harry wished to slap it off, but that was for another day. “Has Lestrange been in contact with you?” Harry took a seat in the chair Malfoy had vacated.

Malfoy laughed. “Do you think if he had I would tell you, Potter?”

Harry stood. He had the information he needed and didn’t wish to waste another moment in the presence of someone so exhaustively irksome.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Sit down, Potter. Do you honestly think he would contact me? Me? The failed Death Eater who couldn’t carry out his Master’s orders? The only reason he would pay me a visit would be if he had plans to kill me. He killed my parents, therefore, he wouldn’t hesitate to kill me if given the opportunity.”

Harry hadn’t known who’d killed Malfoy’s parents. Most everyone in the Ministry had assumed it had been Death Eaters who’d been angry that Narcissa Malfoy had saved Harry Potter’s life, but to most people in the world in which he lived, one Death Eater was as bad as the next, so what did it matter who did the actual killing? “Kingsley has sent Aurors to look for him.”

Malfoy smirked again and let a small chuckle escape. “Even without the power the Elder Wand would give him, Potter, Lestrange is a formidable foe. I’d like to see Shacklebolt and your fellow Aurors best him, but I have my doubts that that is possible. I’m guessing you’ve already got Aurors posted at Andromeda’s?” Malfoy then asked, no doubt feigning interest.

“Of course,” Harry replied. “In fact, I plan on paying her and Teddy a visit later to fill them in on what is going on.”

“Do give them my regards,” Malfoy said, distractedly, a small smile on his lips as he looked towards the door and gave a rather put upon sigh “Not to be rude or anything, Potter, but if you have nothing further to ask, I was rather busy and would like to get back to it.”

Busy getting his cock sucked dry, Harry thought, and he couldn’t help the blush that he was sure covered his face. He tried to make it go away, as well as the movement in his nether regions, but as Harry’s thoughts kept going back to his and Malfoy’s meeting in the Shrieking Shack when Malfoy had told him he was a homosexual and that he wanted to bugger him, and then when the following night Malfoy had made Harry so hard he hadn’t been able to leave the Shrieking Shack until he’d pushed down his trousers and pants and tossed off, there was little hope of his bits behaving anytime soon. 

Harry shook his head. He needed to forget this, but if he hadn’t been able to do so in five years, he knew it likely he’d never forget, and if he were honest with himself, he didn’t want to. Still, it was maddening and Harry cursed himself as he prepared to leave, but a now grinning Malfoy remained stretched out on the sofa, looking as smug and entitled as ever. Harry knew he should leave without another word, but he’d never liked it when Malfoy had the last word. “I didn’t ask your mum to save my life; I think she did it so she could find you.” Then Harry turned and walked towards the door. 

He was about to open it when Malfoy’s voice interrupted the silence. “Not a day goes by that I don’t miss them. You can’t imagine what it’s like being stuck here alone in this huge house. Astoria comes round two or three days a week and she treats me like a king when she’s here, but three days out of seven isn’t enough.”

Ten minutes later, a rather bemused Harry, who wondered why on earth Malfoy had told him what he had, found himself in the Headmistress’s office, seated in the familiar chair across from Minerva McGonagall, who looked much older and paler than she had when Harry had been a student. Harry marvelled at her longevity and had asked her on more than one occasion why she didn’t retire. She’d always brushed him off, saying she had an obligation to the students. Harry admired her verve, but he worried about her. She wasn’t getting any younger and the permanent scarring that had resulted from the injuries she’d received at the end of Harry’s fifth year were giving her quite a bit of trouble these days. It was for this reason Harry wished he didn’t have to add to her troubles, but, as trouble and he had been synonymous with one another since the day he’d arrived at Hogwarts, he guessed he should get on with it. There was nothing to be gained by delaying the inevitable. Besides, he knew Kingsley had already informed her of everything. His visit was unnecessary, but he welcomed any excuse to visit Hogwarts.

He shared what he’d gleaned from Malfoy: he held nothing back, and when she asked him if he thought Draco Malfoy was trustworthy, he didn’t hesitate to say yes. He really had no idea as Malfoy had certainly never done anything over the past five years to gain Harry’s trust, but Harry had no choice at the moment other than to trust him. If he was wrong, this could all end very badly, but he didn’t think he was wrong about Malfoy … at least not about this.

Minerva removed her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose once Harry was finished. “Arthur and Kingsley have assigned a detail to your mansion block. I’m sorry to say you will be guarded twenty-four hours a day until the wand and Lestrange have been found.”

Harry let a slightly manic laugh slip. “I wonder what the public will say to that? Famous Harry Potter, an Auror, can’t take care of himself, so his own detail of Aurors and Unspeakables will guard him day and night.”

“You know there’s no choice, Harry,” Minerva said, shaking her head. “Like it or not, you’re a symbol to our world. If anything happens to you, you know what could happen. Arthur and Kingsley aren’t willing to take any chances. Lestrange must be caught.”

Yes, Harry knew that. He stood and walked to the door, but turned back towards Minerva. “I’ll be here tomorrow and Friday until noon, so there won’t be a need for extra detail until noon Friday, when Ginny will be here, but she and I are spending Friday and Saturday afternoon together. She’s been gone since March, Minerva. Can you talk to Kingsley and Arthur about putting off the detail until she leaves Saturday? They won’t listen to me, but you, they might,” Harry added, knowing very well his pleas would more than likely fall on deaf ears, but he had to try. “Please?” he begged when it looked as though Minerva was going to turn him down. “I’ve been vigilant for the past five years and it has served me well. I think I can do the same at the weekend. Place that extra detail at the Burrow and at Andromeda’s.”

**_2003 01 May (Thursday)_ **

Harry took a seat across from Ron, who was eating a banger, and looked around to see which of his former year mates had come to the five-year anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, and wasn’t overly surprised that many had chosen to stay away. He understood. Had he a choice, he wouldn’t have come, but as he was Harry Potter, and as he’d brought about the demise of Voldemort, well … he was where he had to be, wasn’t he? “How’s your mum? Your dad said she’s on edge and couldn’t sleep last night. There were Aurors there, yeah?” asked Harry as he poured himself a glass of pumpkin juice and surveyed the other breakfast offerings, which was one of the aspects of Hogwarts Harry missed the most. No matter where he ate in the mornings—be it in the conference room of the Ministry or at his flat—he never ate as well as he had as a student.

“Yeah, they were there, but Mum was in a right mood this morning. Called Ginny and insisted she come home straight away. Mum’s terrified something’ll happen to us. I told her we couldn’t stop living our lives because a nutter was on the loose.”

Harry understood. “What did Gin say to that?” he asked as he reached across the table and grabbed a scone.

“She had quite a bit to say about it to me, but to Mum she said she’d be home _Saturday_ —“ Ron gave Harry a pointed smirk, but tactfully chose not to elaborate why Ginny hadn’t told her mother she’d be home Friday—“for the weekend, but that was the best she could do. Said she couldn’t abandon the team.”

“She’ll be okay. I have Unspeakables in Holyhead tracking her every move,” was Harry’s droll reply, but he well understood Mrs Weasley’s worry about her daughter; not a day passed that Harry didn’t worry for Ginny’s safety. She could take care of herself in most situations, but Harry feared for the one time she wouldn’t.

Ron chuckled. “It still seems dodgy to me that they now have the Unspeakables doing the same things the Aurors do, but I guess since they have pretty much the same training, that’s good, even if it’s a step down for the Unspeakables,” Ron added, no doubt to get a reaction out of Harry. He wasn’t disappointed. Harry gave him a go to hell look. Ron grinned. “I take it Ginny has no idea she’s being followed?”

“She would be furious if she knew,” Harry replied, knowing that if she did cotton on, there would be hell to pay.

“That she would, mate, and I wouldn’t want to be you when she finds out. If I had someone follow Hermione, she’d go spare,” Ron said, and then he stuffed a spoonful of mash into his mouth. “Whe is se?” he then asked, looking around as if Hermione should be by his side. “She was supposed to meet us here.”

“She and Lavender are in the Library, talking to Madam Pince,” replied Harry, amused at Ron and his never-changing eating habits.

“Why’d they wanna do that? I thought for sure Madam Pince would be dead by now. She looked older than dirt when we were here.” Ron took a swig of pumpkin juice and made a face as he frowned at the goblet he held in his hand. “We’re adults, you’d think they could give us something a bit more adult,” he said as he reached over and grabbed a piece of toast and the bowl of beans.

Harry looked around to be sure no one was close enough to listen in on what he was about to tell Ron, and then he leant across the table. “Malfoy’s here.”

“Yeah, I saw him earlier. He looks just as smug and gitty as he did five years ago. Wonder what he’s been up to.” It was clear Ron couldn’t care less.

Harry shrugged his shoulders. “That girl is here with him: Astoria Greengrass. Remember Daphne, who was in Slytherin? Astoria’s her sister.”

“Yeah, she was as smug as Malfoy, wasn’t she?” Ron said, looking over his shoulder towards the table where the Slytherins had sat when they were students. There were a few sitting there now, but not nearly as many as were seated at the other tables. “All the Slytherins are the same though. Good for him if he’s getting some from her sister,” said Ron, rolling his eyes. “I didn’t think that git would be able to get a bird. Who’d want to shack up with him?”

“Dunno,” Harry replied rather quickly, and he decided it best to change the subject before Ron cottoned on that his best mate was uncomfortable and that Malfoy was the reason. “When I woke up this morning there were three Aurors stationed round the mansion block, disguised as porters.” Ron rolled his eyes and Harry put up a hand. He didn’t want to hear it. “I know, I know. I’m Harry Potter. What else should I have expected?”

“Exactly,” said Ron, looking smug. “Any news on the wand? Or Lestrange? Mum told Dad she’d like a go at him; says it would give her satisfaction to be the one to end his sorry life.” Ron shook his head and coughed. “She’s quite scary, Harry. She told me if Lestrange comes round, she’s going to chop off his … his … you know.” Ron looked down towards his bits and made a funny face.

“Harry grinned. “His cock?” He laughed. “Your mum said that?” Harry asked, not able to picture such a word coming out of Mrs Weasley’s mouth.

“Well, she didn’t use that exact word, but yeah. George told her to go for it.”

Ron looked horrified and Harry thought it hilarious. “I wouldn’t want to be Lestrange if he tries to get into the Burrow. But, that’ll never happen,” Harry added quickly when Ron’s face began to change into a frown. “Kingsley has it surrounded. And to answer your question, I haven’t heard anything about the wand or Lestrange.”

“I’m surprised they let you come here today,” mumbled Ron who was now eating beans on toast as if it were the last meal he would ever have.

“Yeah, well, how would they explain that one? Truth is they’re trying to keep this quiet; they don’t want people to panic. Besides, I’m here all the time. Kingsley did tell me there’d be more Aurors here than usual,” Harry added, looking none too happy.

“Glad I’m not you, mate,” Ron said as he turned to watch Draco Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass as they entered the Great Hall.

“Thanks,” was Harry’s distracted reply as he, too, watched the two enter, but he forced himself to look away. He didn’t care about Malfoy or his girl. And yes, that was a lie, but Harry had to get Malfoy out of his mind. He forced himself to school his face and turn back towards Ron. He gave a half-hearted laugh. “They’re going to give me grief Monday at the Ministry because of all the added protection.”

**_2003 02 May (Friday)_ **

There were three reasons a starkers Harry Potter, in the throes of post-orgasmic bliss, panicked when he spotted a Jack Russell terrier Patronus—from the window in his bedroom—running full on towards the mansion block his flat was in: 1. Ron Weasley was the owner of the aforementioned Patronus. 2. Harry’s current feeling of euphoria was the result of Ron’s sister doing wonderfully naughty things to Harry’s body. 3. Why was Ron’s Patronus relaying a message rather than Ron? Something bad must have happened.

The Wand.

Harry panicked a bit, but he couldn’t let Ginny know what was going on. He’d have to tell her something, but not the complete truth.

“Brilliant,” said Harry, sarcasm and worry intermingled as he kissed the back of Ginny’s neck, then reluctantly sat up so he could decide his next move. “Ron sent his Patronus and I don’t think it’s to wish us a lovely day in bed, Gin.” As expected, a wide-eyed Ginny sat up, her back rigid, the duvet falling from her chest, revealing her bare, perky breasts that Harry had enjoyed suckling not so many minutes earlier. She glanced out the window before looking at Harry. 

“He can’t catch us like this,” was all she said as she lifted the duvet and covered herself. Her eyes then travelled down to Harry’s bits, which were on display for the world to see. She grinned.

Harry quite agreed. It wouldn’t be prudent for Ron to catch them like this, but as it was Ron’s Patronus and not Ron that was on its way to see Harry, he wasn’t worried. Whilst Ron’s Patronus could relay a message, as far as Harry knew, it couldn’t think and see and go back and tell Ron what naughty things his best friend had been up to with his sister. The thought caused Harry to grin. “Don’t worry about that, Gin. It’s a Patronus. They can’t think like humans and thankfully, neither can they be seen by Muggles,” he added, ruefully, as he stared out the window and noticed a porter helping a patron.

“Yeah, well, as you know, we wouldn’t have to worry about that if you lived in Hogsmeade, Godric’s Hollow, or Ottery St. Catchpole,” Ginny said as she looked out the window and watched a Lorrie pass by. “Do you like it here, Harry?” she asked, giving the window a disgusted look.

What could Harry say to that? Ginny knew how he felt about living where he did; he felt the same as she did, but he had little choice where he lived, at least for the foreseeable future. Kingsley had asked him to live in Muggle London; he’d said it would be the perfect location to be a vigilant Auror, as there were more dark wizards attempting to blend in with Muggles these days. Thus far, Harry hadn’t seen any advantages, but he planned to give it a try for a few more months, then he’d move to Godric’s Hollow or Ottery St Catchpole. If he chose the latter, he’d be closer to the Burrow … and Ginny, at least when she wasn’t on the road with the Harpies, that is. “I should meet your brother’s Patronus outside, if not, it’ll come through the walls.” A deep sigh of regret escaped his lips, and he heard one from Ginny’s, as well, but there was nothing for it, so Harry got out of bed, found his wand, and Summoned his and Ginny’s dressing gowns. He wanted to believe this wasn’t anything serious, but history told him otherwise. He was, after all, Harry Potter, and someone was after him.

He smiled when he noticed Ginny looking at him, a question on her lips, and shrugged his shoulders. “Should’ve known we wouldn’t be allowed two days to ourselves.” His voice trembled ever so slightly as he put his dressing gown over his arm and threw Ginny hers. “I’ll be back,” he said as he headed towards the door, but he stopped when Ginny called his name. He turned back towards her and the breath caught in his throat. How had he been the lucky one to get Ginny? For almost three months, this very image had sustained him. He’d dreamt of making love to her and holding her in his arms, telling her over and over how much he loved her and how much he wanted to work out the problems they’d been having over the past two years. Now that the dream was a reality, Harry very nearly couldn’t comprehend the reality. How could he have ever thought that his life would be better without Ginny? And how could he have ever thought that a bloke by the name of Draco Malfoy could ever give him what Ginny did? 

“You should probably clean yourself, yeah? You’re rather sticky down there, Harry,” Ginny said, a bit of pink infusing her cheeks as she got out of the bed and found her wand so she could do the same to herself. Her hair covered her round, cream-coloured breasts as she bent over and pointed her wand at her bits, but before she cleaned herself, she reached down with her left hand, covered her index finger in Harry’s drying come, lifted the hand to her mouth, and licked her finger until she’d removed the last remnants. She winked at Harry as she removed her finger. “It’ll be up to you to nourish me when you get back.”

Bloody hell. Harry couldn’t help himself. Not with talk like that. Ron’s Patronus would come through the wall at any moment, but Harry’s needy body was in control at this point, not his rational mind. He made it back to Ginny in three strides, grabbed her, and kissed her more passionately than they had kissed in a long while. He and Ginny were almost always ravenous with one another and rarely took time to truly enjoy being together, but this was one of those times they needed something different from each other. This passion was at the heart of what Harry had always wanted with another, and he would never again push Ginny away as he had done off and on for the past five years. He’d craved love and acceptance the whole of his life and now that he had it with the girl of his dreams, he would never let her go, even if their passion rarely resulted in moments such as this, and even if his dreams of late had featured a male whose passion for Harry couldn’t ever be equalled. 

A minute or two or three later Harry forced himself to pull away, his breathing fast, his erection evident once again (It was a good thing his dressing gown was loose fitting). “Stay in here. I’ll let you know what’s going on as soon as Ron’s Patronus leaves.” Harry attempted to school his face so he didn’t appear as unsettled as he was, but it was no use. He was pants at hiding his emotions.

“It’s only Ron taking the mickey out of you, Harry. He knows what we were planning today and I’m sure he and George planned this.”

Harry doubted that and he knew Ginny’s words were nothing more or less than attempts to lessen his anxiety. Another reason he loved Ginny. He donned the dressing gown then turned and walked to the door, and, in less than ten seconds, he was standing outside, awaiting Ron’s message.

“The wards at Andromeda’s have been compromised, Harry. Kingsley and I are meeting in Dad’s office. They think it's Lestrange. It could be unrelated, but regardless, someone who has no clearance has breached the wards at Andromeda’s.”

After a change of clothes, Harry tumbled forward from the fireplace onto the familiar red, brown and green threadbare carpet, its edges frayed with age and use, stood, and straightened his glasses. As he brushed the soot off himself, he looked around. He needed to make a decision about what he should do first, but before he could do anything, he needed to be able to see, which wasn't so easy when there was little to no light to help him see farther than a few steps ahead. He lit his wand, which helped, but he wanted to see everything at once, not just little swathes of the room as he pointed his wand in different directions.

The only other light came from the late afternoon sunshine, through the barely discernible blind-covered window (the blind was normally open so the light from outdoors could bathe the interior). Harry went to the window and opened the blind, allowing the sun to filter in and shine its waning light into the room.

Nothing in the small sitting room, lined as it was with numerous bookshelves, an old loveseat that Hermione had told him was a rare antique, a grandfather clock and an old mirror that had seen better days, seemed out of place. There were toys scattered about, but that was normal. 

Had the house been tidy, _that_ would have been cause for alarm. 

Teddy had more toys than he could play with and Andromeda, being his grandmother—one who had lost a husband, daughter and son-in-law in less than a year's time—wasn't much for order or discipline. It wasn't the best way to raise a young child in these times of excess and entitlement, but it was the best way Andromeda could raise her grandson, and Harry thought she was doing a brilliant job. Teddy was the best of both his parents, and Harry knew that the boy would grow up to be very much like Remus in temperament, but with an overabundance of self-confidence, as Tonks had had. 

Whilst the scattered toys had been nothing out of the ordinary, the complete lack of sound was very much out of place. This house and noise were synonymous with one another. The usual non-stop sounds of a five-year-old child playing and running around were conspicuously absent. Then Harry felt it: Magic crackled through the air, and it was unfamiliar to him. It wasn’t a particularly strong magic, but it was foreign, and that was what mattered most to Harry. Weak or strong, there was an intruder inside Harry's godson's home.

Once he'd finished giving the room a final sweep, Harry retrieved his Invisibility Cloak. He covered himself and stepped in front of the mirror to see that he was indeed invisible, then he headed towards the passage that would take him to Teddy's room. If Teddy and Andromeda were still here, and had they had time to do so, they would be in the safe cupboard Harry had created for this very situation.

Shuffling. Someone was approaching him, but Harry couldn’t see anyone. He stopped to listen, a feeling of uneasiness travelling through his body.

Everything went dark.

**_2003 May 04 (Sunday afternoon)_ **

Voices. People were speaking. No, they were arguing. Whatever they were doing, Harry wished they would do it quietly. His head felt as if it had been blown to bits. He attempted to open his eyes and was only slightly pleased when he succeeded. It was too bright. He shut them and willed himself into oblivion once more.

When he next woke, he opened his eyes and wished he hadn’t, but this time it wasn’t because of loud voices or bright lights. It was because someone standing a few metres away was someone Harry didn’t wish to see.

Hermione, who he was thrilled to see, stood on one side of the bed, but Draco Malfoy, who Harry wished he weren't seeing, stood on the other side, a bandage upon his right arm and some nasty welts upon the other. Harry wondered what had happened to him, but more than that, he wanted to know why Malfoy and Hermione were looking at him as if he were dead. It was more than a little disconcerting. Harry made a mental note to tell everyone he knew that he didn’t want anyone to see him after he died. The thought of all his friends gawking at him … 

"You're awake!" Hermione squealed, her voice going up by at least two octaves from the tone she’d been using earlier.

Harry winced at the sudden aural onslaught, but managed a small smile. Even if she was much too loud, he was happy to see her, and thankful she’d interrupted his unpleasant musings about death. "Yeah," Harry replied, his voice sounding as if he’d not spoken in days. “How long have I been out?"

Hermione opened her mouth, a perplexed look upon her face, then she looked at Malfoy, before looking back at Harry, her expression faltering somewhat. "For almost two days," she said, carefully, as if she didn’t want to upset Harry.

Malfoy nodded.

Whatever had precipitated that exchange, Harry knew it couldn't be good, and the idea that Draco Malfoy was keeping secrets with Hermione made Harry furious. It was wrong. What was going on? How dare Malfoy stand there looking at Harry so smugly. “What’re you doing here, Malfoy?” Harry asked, wishing he would leave. The looks of pity from him were beginning to grate on Harry’s nerves. Where was Ginny? Harry needed to see Ginny.

In the stead of replying to Harry, Malfoy ignored him, looked at Hermione and shook his head. "My work’s done, Granger." Then he left.

Harry waited until the door shut, then turned so he could see Hermione. "What's his problem?" he asked as he attempted to sit up. Halfway there, he decided it took less strength to lie down, so he returned to his previous position and closed his eyes, willing his head to stop pounding. His legs chose this moment to begin throbbing. And it didn’t take him long to realise that most everything on his body hurt. What had happened to him? He needed answers. 

"Draco brought you here, Harry, and … oh, nothing,” she added as if she were upset, her voice berating, as only she could do when scolding him or Ron, but when Harry frowned and made a face that clearly showed he was in pain, she softened her voice. “Well, he did, and before I forget, Ginny had to leave for Holyhead after lunch. She didn’t want to go, but she hadn’t a choice. She’ll send an owl tomorrow.”

Rotten luck, it seemed, ruled Harry’s life these days. Had Ginny really wanted to stay, she could have. He opened his eyes and let out a derisive laugh, but it hurt to do so and he winced in pain. Hadn’t he lived this life once already? When would he get to enjoy a pain-free and worry-free existence? The way his fortunes were turning, he guessed never. Ginny had finally made it home for more than two days and Harry ended up in hospital, brought there by none other than Bloody infuriating Draco Malfoy, someone Harry really wished to never see again. And, to top that off, Hermione had berated him as if he were a child. Harry hated it when she did that, and now she looked at him as if he’d been caught with his hand in the biscuit jar. “What?” he asked, as a sharp throbbing pain began to travel up his left leg. 

“You’ll want to be careful, Harry,” replied Hermione as she pulled up a chair and sat down beside the bed.

That was news? “Yeah, well, it seems that trouble follows me, Hermione.”

“I’m talking about Malfoy, Harry. You didn’t see the way he looked at you when you were unconscious. If it were anyone else, I’d say they fancied you.” It was clear that Hermione thought the idea that Malfoy could fancy him was completely mental.

“That’s funny, Hermione,” said Harry, but he thought it was anything but. “He’s got a girl: Astoria Greengrass. Daphne, her sister, was in our year. And what happened to … ‘ _He brought you here, Harry._ ’ You seemed to be praising him earlier.” Harry closed his eyes as another throbbing pain rent his head. He opened his mouth to ask Hermione to please leave, but then he thought better of it. He needed answers and she was the only one here to give them. But he absolutely unequivocally didn’t want to talk about Malfoy. Malfoy was the last person Harry wanted to talk about. Yes, Draco Malfoy did fancy him. He wanted to bugger him. At least he had wanted to for two night after the Battle of Hogwarts. Neither of these things, however, were topics Harry would discuss with Hermione or anyone else, now, or ever. It was a moot point, anyway. Ginny was the only one for him and that was that.

“Of course I’m pleased he brought you here, Harry, and I don’t think you should’ve spoken to him the way you did. He didn’t deserve that. It’s just that … well, just keep an eye out for him, okay? I’m not saying he has nefarious intentions. I’ve never thought that, even when he turned out to be up to no good. But there’s something there that seems off. It’s as if he wants something from you, Harry. Do you remember the way you described the Pensieve memories of Snape watching your mum? That’s the way Malfoy was looking at you when you were asleep. It was rather disturbing, really.”

If she only knew ... “I’ll keep an eye on him and watch my back,” Harry said, nodding and looking quite serious, hoping that would be enough to quell Hermione’s motherly ways, but he doubted such. Luckily, he and Malfoy had no reason to be in the same vicinity on a daily basis—they had, after all, gone all of five years without seeing one another—if they went back to that now, all would be well. If not, Harry knew he’d be in trouble. Hermione was just as much a know-it-all now as she’d been at school. If given the opportunity, she would cotton on that there was more to Malfoy’s _interest_ for Harry. 

The entrance of Madam Pomfrey silenced him from asking any further questions and, although he needed answers—he wanted to know how Andromeda and Teddy were—at least Hermione wouldn’t be able to question him further about Malfoy.

“Miss Granger, you may come back this evening. If he continues as he is he’ll be able to go home tonight, but, for now, he needs his rest,” Madam Pomfrey said as she retrieved a phial from her pocket and opened it as she walked to the other side of the bed and waved her wand to check her patient’s vitals.

Hermione grabbed her jacket, leant over, kissed Harry upon the forehead, then left. Madam Pomfrey gave him the potion and told him to sleep. 

He did, but fitfully, dreams of someone sucking his cock as they berated him, dominating his attempts.

**_2003 May 05 (Monday)_ **

It wasn't yet eight in the morning and Harry was already wishing he could go home. Home. That place he seemed to spend so little time these days. But it did exist, and Harry imagined himself under a hot shower, the water cascading down over his sore body, then he imagined Ginny's lithe and supple body stepping in behind him. Then he imagined Ginny reaching around him and cupping his cock in her hands. It felt like heaven. Harry groaned as he shut his eyes. What he wouldn't give for this to be real, but as Ginny had left for Holyhead, it seemed that Harry would be having another workout with his hand tonight. It wasn’t Ginny, but it gave him release, and even this early in the morning, Harry knew he would need such when he got home after this hellish day.

"Potter," called out Kingsley from behind.

Harry turned around, startled from his thoughts, but didn't stop walking as he attempted to clear his mind of Ginny doing things to him that would make Kingsley blush. “Does everyone know?” asked Harry, knowing it was a stupid question. Of course, everyone knew.

“Word gets around. It’s not every day that Harry Potter is rescued by someone who was not so long ago his sworn enemy. You’re the talk of the conference room this morning, Harry, and it’s certain to escalate when the Floos start lighting up. You look better than you did yesterday, but you’ve got to admit you look as if you’ve been through a fight with a dark wizard, as does Malfoy. He did fair better than you, but when I talked with him this morning, he was in a fair amount of pain, as I’m guessing you are. I’m sure she told you, but when Poppy and I visited, she told me she didn’t think the degree of the curse wounds are bad enough that they’ll leave permanent scarring, but she said it’s going to take a significant time for them to heal. Malfoy laughed when I told him and was quick to remind me that he already has curse wound scars that will never completely heal.”

A groan was Harry’s response. Kingsley could have left that last bit out. Really. There weren’t many days Harry didn’t think about that horrible moment in time when he had very nearly killed Draco Malfoy. Harry shook his head. He and Malfoy spent far too much time attempting to kill and save one another. Perhaps they were destined to be in each other’s lives forever. Harry’s good fortune would no doubt see to that. Such thought did little to lift Harry’s spirits. “Hermione and Draco were evasive in hospital, and the way you are looking at me now makes me think there is more to this than a simple kidnapping and rescue, Kingsley. What aren’t you telling me?” he asked, feeling knackered and depressed and wanting to go home and crawl into bed. “And Why was Malfoy there? There was no reason for him to be at Andromeda’s house,” Harry whinged, knowing he sounded like a petulant child. Funny thing was he didn’t care.

“As Minister for Magic, Harry, my concerns are many, but as Kingsley Shacklebolt, my sole concern at the moment is that you’re kept safe. Unfortunately, as you seem to have cottoned onto, there is more to the story of what happened, and we need to fill you in. Meet me in my office in ten minutes.”

Harry nodded and his heart began pounding. He knew that Hermione, Malfoy and Kingsley were hiding something from him and it seemed he was finally going to get his answers. “Will Hermione or Ron be there?” he asked, for no other reason than he needed a friend with him and both Ron and Hermione worked at the Ministry, so it shouldn’t be too difficult to get one or both of them to attend the meeting. It was completely selfish on Harry’s part to want them present—it was against protocol—but Harry didn’t much care at this point.

“I’d hoped Hermione would be here for this, Harry. Even as it is against policy to do so, I requested her presence, but she had to go to Barrow-in-Furness,” Kingsley said, carefully, as if he’d known such news wasn’t what Harry would want to hear, then he added, “but she told me to tell you she’d be back tomorrow night or Wednesday morning. Ron won’t be in until this afternoon; it seems that George had a bit of an emergency and needed Ron to help him this morning.” He gave Harry a small smile, then turned and walked down the corridor.

Ten minutes later, tea in hand, Harry entered Kingsley’s office and was unsurprised to see Malfoy seated in the chair next to the one Harry would soon occupy. Seeing him made Harry uneasy. He wanted to turn around and leave, but he couldn’t. He needed to know what happened. What was so bad that secrets were being kept?

When Kingsley cleared his throat, both Harry and Malfoy gave him their undivided attention, and Kingsley nodded towards Malfoy. Harry looked to his right and wondered what was about to come out of Malfoy’s mouth, and, as if a bolt of lightning hit, Harry knew what he was about to be told. It was as if someone had dumped ice on him. He could feel the blood leaving his face. “Lestrange took the wand. He now has possession of the Elder Wand, doesn’t he?” said Harry, dread such as he hadn’t felt in five years returning in full.

“He did,” said Kingsley, looking at Harry carefully. “How did you know?”

Harry shrugged his shoulders. He was a bit confused, but one thing he wasn’t at all unclear about what that _He did_ meant _he doesn’t_ , and that worried him because ... “What could be worse than me being attacked and nearly killed and ending up in hospital? One of two things: Either something happened to Ginny, or someone overpowered me and got the wand.” Harry didn’t miss the pensive looks between Malfoy and Kingsley. What else were they hiding? “So … what else happened that you aren’t telling me?” Harry watched as Kingsley stood and left his office. “What’s going on, Malfoy?” But Harry had an idea what he was about to be told. Turn about was fair play, Harry guessed, but he hated the thought … even if Malfoy had saved his life.

“Shacklebolt knows much of what happened, but no one other than me knows everything. I told him I’d show you my memories, but that I’d rather him not see them or be present when you viewed them.”

That didn’t sound good. “So let me see them,” Harry said, impatiently.

Malfoy pointed his wand to his temple and pulled out a long, silvery string of wispy memory that Harry was all-too-familiar with, then stood and placed it in the Pensieve upon Kingsley’s desk. He then pointed the wand back at his head, but seemed to change his mind. He sat down and gestured for Harry to have a look.

Harry couldn’t be sure, but he thought Malfoy had been about to retrieve another memory. Why had he stopped? But Harry couldn’t worry about that now, so he took a deep breath, stood and leant over the Pensieve. “I’m not going to like this, am I?”

“No.”

Harry lowered his face into the shimmery vaporous liquid and felt himself falling.

> _When he landed he was in a large room. It looked similar to the drawing room in Malfoy Manor, but it had no portraits upon the walls and there was no furniture in sight. Harry saw his Pensieve-self seated upon the floor, a plate of food before him, but he wasn’t eating. As he was facing away from Pensieve Harry, there was no way to see his expression, but Harry got the impression that he wasn’t happy. He was wearing the clothes he’d worn when he’d gone to Andromeda’s house. Harry was about to walk over to his Pensieve-self when someone entered the room. It was Malfoy. He walked up to Pensieve Harry, sat down and looked at him for several seconds before he began speaking._
> 
> _“Listen to me, Potter, and listen carefully. Yours as well as my life depends upon it.”_
> 
> _Pensieve Harry didn’t say anything, but nodded. Harry walked several steps so he was looking in between Pensieve Harry and Pensieve Draco._
> 
> _“As I told you he probably would, Lestrange came calling at Malfoy Manor. He said he was there for a friendly chat, but I knew that was a lie. I had to think fast. He was there to kill me, I know he was, so I did what I had to do: I told him I knew how he could get you. I told him where Andromeda lived and that you would drop everything else to be the hero if your godson were in danger.”_
> 
> _Pensieve Harry looked up at Pensieve Malfoy and gave him a most horrid look._
> 
> _Pensieve Malfoy shrugged his shoulders. “I wasn’t ready to die, Potter. I did what I had to do. But I made it so I would have to go with him to Andromeda’s. I knew he would injure you and I wanted to be there to prevent him doing so. I also talked him into allowing Astoria to go with us. He thought I was a nutter for suggesting it, but I said she had to go. I have no idea why, but he relented and said she could. When we arrived, neither your godson nor his grandmother was there. After you arrived, Lestrange knocked you out and brought you here. He told me to keep an eye on you. He’ll be back in an hour. He took Astoria with him. He said his intent isn’t to kill you, but I think it is. We must get you out of here, Potter.”_
> 
> _The memory went blurry, then ended._

Harry lifted his head and looked at Malfoy. There had to be more that he wasn’t being told. “What’s in the memory you didn’t remove? I know there’s more.”

“I’d rather you not see it,” was Malfoy’s reply, his body language showing his discomfort at being in this situation. “You don’t want to see it,” he added, his voice dropping to an almost whisper.

“So tell me,” demanded Harry, his heartbeats speeding up. “I was there, Malfoy. I deserve to know what happened. No matter how bad it was.”

After several seconds’ silence, Malfoy nodded, but it was clear he didn’t want to tell Harry. “As you wish,” Malfoy replied as he stood and slowly walked across the room. When he stopped, he turned so his back was to Harry. He put his hands in his pockets and looked up towards the ceiling. After a few deep breaths he continued. “Lestrange came back into the room and stripped you and tied you to the wall. He wanted me to rape you. I refused. He whipped you several times and said if I refused to follow his orders he’d whip you until you died and then he would do the same to me, but he would have the _honour_ of raping me first. I didn’t know what to do. He stripped me of my clothes and forced me to kiss you. I did, but when I wouldn’t penetrate you, he whipped you and sent several curses towards you, and then he threw you across the room and beat you with his bare hands. He left you for dead and started in on me. As he was whipping me, Astoria managed to break into the room. She summoned the wand from Lestrange. He continued to whip me, but then it seemed to dawn on him what happened, and he Disapparated. I thought you were dead.” After Malfoy finished speaking, he turned around so Harry could see his face, and he looked completely gutted.

“Why don’t I remember any of this?” was Harry’s first question. He was beyond relieved that Malfoy hadn’t got possession of the wand, but the thought that Astoria now had it was actually far worse, albeit for an entirely different reason. 

“I placed a memory charm upon you. Not a strong one, but one that would make you forget the time you spent with Lestrange,” Malfoy said, shaking his head. “When you woke up and realised what had happened, you were rather upset; you were in a bad way, Potter, and I thought you might hyperventilate and do more harm to yourself, although, that wasn’t likely as Lestrange did a fairly thorough job of making sure you were all but dead. I didn’t know what to do to make it stop, so I did the only thing I could think of. I knew you’d be brassed off, but I had to stop you from … I didn’t know if you were going to die on me, or what,” added Malfoy, his face now devoid of any colour. “I’m just glad Pomfrey was able to minimize the damage. You still don’t look that great, and neither do I, but I was there and conscious through it all and can tell you that you are fortunate to be alive, Potter.”

Harry nodded. He hadn’t known how close he had been to death, but he could imagine the harm Lestrange was capable of. 

That Lestrange didn’t possess the Elder Wand was a very good thing, but … this was so much worse than he had thought. The first bit had been quite enough to hear about. It had all come out of Malfoy’s mouth fast, as if Malfoy had been afraid that if he took his time he wouldn’t be able to say it all, but had Malfoy raped him that would have been preferable to where things currently stood. Harry swallowed. “Lestrange is going to come after Astoria.” The thought terrified Harry. It hadn’t been Draco who had saved his life, after all. It had been Astoria. Now her life was in danger. It wasn’t fair.

Malfoy nodded as he returned to the chair and had a seat. “You could forcefully take the wand from her, Potter. You can do that, yeah?” asked a now shaking Malfoy as he looked towards Harry, a hopeful look upon his face.

Harry nodded. “Yeah, I could, but Lestrange would have to see me take the wand from Astoria to believe a transfer happened. Otherwise, he’s going to think Astoria still has it.” Harry wished he had a better answer, because he really did hate the way Malfoy looked. Harry tried to understand. If anyone was after Ginny … “I’ll get the wand from her, Malfoy.” Harry knew that wouldn’t be enough, but he would do what he could, and he would keep her safe. He owed that much to Malfoy. And he owed it to Astoria.

“There’s no way she can keep him off her. We have to do something, Potter,” Malfoy said, and it sounded very much as if he said another word, it would be through tears.

“Where is she now?” Harry asked, trying to come up with a plan, but he had nothing. How was he going to get Lestrange and Astoria together? He was sure there was a way, but at the moment he could think of nothing.

“Back at work in Cardiff. She’ll be back Wednesday, but by then it could be too late.”

**_2003 May 6 (Tuesday)_ **

“ _Potter, come to Malfoy Manor. Astoria will be here in an hour. You can get the wand from her_ ,” were the only words upon the parchment.

Harry wanted nothing more than to stay in bed, but as he had to be at the Ministry in two hours, he had no choice but to force himself to get up. His legs and back seemed to be bothering him more than the day previous, but he had been through similar injuries and had survived those with little more than wounded pride, thus, he did his best not to think about the pain as he showered. He would make a detour to Malfoy Manor to get the wand from Astoria, but there was still the problem that Lestrange would think that Astoria possessed it, so he would still come after her. Harry had to come up with a plan. If he didn’t …

He stepped out of the shower, dressed and was at the door of Malfoy Manor by 8:00 a.m.

Malfoy opened the door, looking dour as he handed Harry a piece of parchment. “Read it,” were his only words.

Harry unfolded the crumpled parchment.

> _Draco and Harry, I won’t place the two of you in danger. I shan’t be gone long, but I need to think what my next move should be. Please forgive me. I know what the two of you were going to do, and you’re both noble for it, but I can’t put your life at risk, Harry. If anything happens to me, I want the two of you to get over yourselves and accept what’s in front of you. Draco, thank you for a wonderful past five years. I do love you, but you don’t love me. I only come round a few days a week because that’s all I can give you. You need someone who can match your passions, and he’s probably standing in front of you as you read this. Don’t waste this opportunity._

Harry looked up at Malfoy. What the bloody hell? “We have to find her.”

Malfoy shook his head as if he’d lost all hope. “If she doesn’t wish to be found, we won’t find her, Potter.”

“So you’re just going to let her go and not go after her? That’s rich, Malfoy,” growled Harry, his voice louder with each word.

“What in the bloody hell do you want me to do, Potter? She all but told me to bugger off … _and bugger you!_ She wants nothing to do with me. Thanks to you.”

“Don’t go blaming me, Malfoy. I’ve never said a word about wanting you. If you’ll recall, it was you who told me that you were a homosexual and that you wanted to bugger me. I’ve never encouraged you and I’ve never let on to Astoria that I wanted you. Never!” Harry was furious, because, despite his words, which were the truth, he very much wanted Draco Malfoy. He’d wanted him since the day Malfoy had confronted him about his parents’ deaths. It was wrong, and Harry really did hate it that he felt this way about someone who treated him so badly. He had fought his confusing feelings and had made himself think that he hated Malfoy, but he couldn’t change the way he felt. But as it seemed Malfoy had, so be it. Harry had Ginny.

“Piss off!” Malfoy muttered a few seconds later, menacingly, yet softly, his breathing getting louder with each passing second. “If you know what’s good for you, Potter, you’ll piss off. Now.”

“No,” was Harry’s foolish response. He should leave; he knew this, and he wanted to, but he was tired of being the submissive one. Wasn’t he the Auror? Hadn’t he faced down a Dark Lord? And didn’t he have every right to make Malfoy feel as little as Malfoy always made him feel? Harry was tired of acting so timid and hurt. He hadn’t been this way for five years, so why in the hell was he doing so now? Draco Malfoy had always been a bully, but that was no reason for Harry to validate such. With that in mind, he stared down Malfoy and watched in fascination as the pale pointy chin began to quiver.

“Get out! GET OUT!” screamed a shaking Malfoy.

Harry knew it was over. He gave Malfoy a nod, and left. He went straight to the Ministry and locked himself in his office. He needed to talk to someone, but Hermione hadn’t got back and Ron was at the shop helping George. Kingsley was down the corridor, but Harry just couldn’t bring himself to talk to him about this. It would be hard enough with his best friends, but Harry was tired of keeping all of this to himself. Either his friends would hate him or continue to love him. It didn’t matter to Harry; he just wanted to share what he was feeling. Of course, the idea of doing so was easy now that he was merely thinking of doing such. When the actual moment came to tell them how he felt about Draco Malfoy, he wasn’t so sure he’d be able to tell Ron or Hermione. Especially when there was absolutely no hope of anything ever coming from Harry’s feelings. Malfoy had made that perfectly clear. Wasn’t it ironic that Malfoy had begun this thing when Harry couldn’t have cared less, and now when Harry cared, Malfoy seemed to not.

The telltale sound of a memo delivery at his door, Harry groaned. He didn’t feel much like answering it, but he couldn’t forego his duties simply because he was having a crisis of sorts. He pointed his wand at the door and opened it. In flew the message and it made its way to him and fell into his hands. After shutting the door, he opened the parchment, hoping it was from Hermione or Ginny, and when he saw the same writing that he’d seen earlier in the morning, at Malfoy Manor, his attention was completely absorbed by the words that followed _Dear Harry:_

> _I probably shouldn’t be sending you this as I am violating Draco’s trust by doing so, but I think it my duty to tell you that Draco has been struggling mightily with his preference for males since he was eleven. His mother threatened to have him castrated at the age of thirteen. His father was supportive, but his mother’s unwillingness to accept her son’s wants and needs destroyed Draco’s spirit. He has always been in love with you, Harry. Always. But he would never tell you that. Even if by some miracle the two of you end up together, you can never tell him I told you this. It would destroy him, Harry, and that isn’t an exaggeration. I am so very sorry I am sending you this and not telling you in person, but it is easier this way. I love Draco, Harry. For years, I have feared him doing something to himself. He is such a good person. Really, he is. But he doesn’t think so. He thinks he is a freak. Harry, he is not a freak. He is someone worthy of love. I know I can’t make you love him, but I had to tell you this so you will know. I just want you to know. It will never be enough for him or me, but if you know, then that is okay. Then at least someone other than me knows that he is worthy._
> 
> _Yours, Astoria_

**_2003 07 May (Wednesday–where we left off at the beginning of the fic)_ **

When Harry reached the cliff, out of breath and barely able to stand, Astoria and Lestrange were dueling near the edge—a bit further away than the last time Harry had seen them, but still too close for comfort. As Harry had feared, Astoria’s prowess was lessening—anyone’s would when put to the test against Rodolphus Lestrange—and she was visibly tiring. Harry willed her to continue. Malfoy was running towards her, screaming for her to throw the wand to Lestrange. Harry began doing the same, although, that would do little good. The wand wasn’t what Lestrange was after—it was Astoria he had to wrestle the wand away from. The wand itself would do him no good. Nevertheless, perhaps if she threw her wand to Lestrange, it would momentarily distract him long enough for Malfoy to reach her. Harry had every confidence that if Malfoy could just reach Astoria, he would be able to stop Lestrange.

But Harry knew that Astoria would never relinquish her wand at this point. In a different fight, perhaps, with less on the line, but not with a man who was on the cusp of becoming the next Dark Lord. 

Then she was shouting. Harry couldn’t understand what she was saying, but it seemed Malfoy did, and he began screaming back, yelling, “No, Astoria. I’m coming. Don’t do it. Don’t do it!” Harry then watched as she threw her wand over the edge of the cliff. He didn’t understand why she would do such, but then a feeling of debilitating despair washed over him and he knew. “No!” he screamed, and he heard Malfoy echoing his cry, but it sounded so much worse coming from him. It was the sound of complete defeat, and Harry was paralysed with fear for all of them. He knew there was nothing he could do.

When Lestrange sent the next hex towards her, Astoria jumped out of the way and avoided it, but before another curse could be sent her way she moved a bit closer to the edge and stood there for a second. She turned towards Harry and shook her head. Next, she looked at Draco and mouthed _I’m sorry_. Then she turned around and jumped off the cliff.

Harry and Draco screamed her name.

**_2004 May 7 (Friday, a year later)_ **

Harry sat upon his bed, clad in nothing but a towel, and sighed. It had been a year. A year he wished he could forget. Astoria had died. Draco, true to his word, hadn’t contacted or spoken to him. Ginny had decided their relationship needed a brief break six months earlier, which had turned into a permanent one two months later.

He retrieved the parchment from the bedside table and looked at it, although he need not read the words. He had them memorized and each one of them served to break Harry’s heart again and again. His eyes scanned the writing, smeared with a year’s worth of tears, word by word, and tears fell as he imagined Astoria writing them:

> _Draco and Harry,_
> 
> _Don’t hate me for what I’m about to do. I’m doing what I’ve got to do. As long as there’s someone living who has possession of the Elder Wand, there’ll be others who will want the power. Lestrange will kill many with it. I know that. When I thought of this idea, I didn’t much care for it, but then I remembered something Professor Dumbledore told me when I was going through a difficult time. He told me that sometimes we have to do what is right and not what is easy. Now, I’m not saying what I’m going to do is right. Maybe I’m breaking a law by taking my own life, but what I do know is that what’s about to happen will probably seem a defeat to the two of you, but to me it will be more triumphant than victory. I know neither of you will understand, but I do, and that’s enough. I love you, Draco Malfoy, and Harry Potter, you have endeared yourself to me in the short time I’ve known you. I wish I didn’t like you, but I do. Very much. That’s why I know in my heart that you and Draco need to be together. You need each other. You can give each other what the other needs. I’m not doing what I’m about to do because I want the two of you together, but I’ll be brassed off if you two waste this opportunity._
> 
> _Yours always, Astoria_

Harry set down the parchment and put his head in his hands. This was his fault. Draco and Astoria had come to his aid, and, in the struggle, Astoria had got the wand from Lestrange.

Now Astoria was gone.

How would Harry ever make this right?

He knew he couldn’t.

There was a knock at his door. Harry, still in his towel, didn’t feel like talking to anyone, so he ignored it. It had been a long, depressing day at the Ministry and the only thing Harry wished to do was forget for a few hours, or attempt to. He removed the towel and got beneath the duvet. He needed to sleep. Not that that would change anything, but the memories were assaulting him and he couldn’t take it. Better they do so in dreams. Not really, but reality was too overwhelming for Harry at the moment, so he would take his chances and sleep away the hurt.

He closed his eyes and drifted off into a restless sleep, but was awakened by someone peppering his neck with kisses. His first thought was Ginny, but she was in Holyhead, and hadn’t she said they were finished? Harry’s breathing sped up. He reached for his glasses, put them on, then he carefully manoeuvred himself so he could turn over, and there, beside him, starkers, was Draco Malfoy, on top of the duvet, seated upon the edge of the bed, looking down at Harry, his expression unreadable. He didn’t look happy, but neither did he look unhappy. He was here, however, sitting on Harry’s bed, his cock resting between his thighs, beautiful and thick. Harry was gobsmacked and had to close his mouth. He was curious what he looked like, but then again, it was probably better he had no idea. He propped himself up on his elbow and looked into Draco’s eyes.

Harry didn’t know what to say, but Malfoy seemed to know and he put a finger over Harry’s mouth and shook his head. He then leant in and, after removing his finger, kissed Harry’s lips. Harry closed his eyes. When he opened them a few minutes later, Draco was looking at him, a small grin upon his face. Harry didn’t trust himself to speak, so he didn’t.

Malfoy did. “That Weasley girl of yours came to see me this morning. She said it was unfair what happened, but that I shouldn’t punish you or myself because of it. I know she’s right, Potter, but I put Astoria in that position. I made Lestrange allow her to come with me to Andromeda’s. It’s my fault.” Two tears trailed down his cheeks.

Harry took his right index finger and wiped the tears from beneath Malfoy’s bloodshot eyes. “I should’ve done more to prevent her from getting the wand. I’m so sorry, Draco.” Harry leant closer and kissed Draco, not upon his lips, but right above them, and pulled back a few seconds later. Only then did he realise he had called Malfoy by his given name. It startled him, but it felt natural, and Harry wanted to say it again. But he didn’t. What he did was invite Draco to get under the duvet with him. A few seconds later Draco was lying beside him, the two practically twined around each other. It really was almost more than Harry could take, feeling Draco Malfoy’s cock nestled against his thigh. Thoughts of what it might be doing later got his heart beating faster. Harry grinned and was rewarded when his thigh was nudged and Draco’s cock nuzzled snugly between Harry’s thighs.

“You were nearly unconscious, Potter; there was nothing you could have done,” said Draco as he propped himself on an elbow and narrowed the almost nonexistent space between them and ran his hand through Harry’s perspiration-dampened bangs, and then ran his fingers around Harry’s heart-shaped face. “It was in my power, and I let her down. I let Astoria down.” Malfoy took his left hand and roughly wiped away the new tears trailing down his face one after another. I let her down and I don’t know how to move forward, but I’m tired of fighting this thing between us, Potter,” he said, pointing at Harry then himself. “I’ve denied it for six years. I don’t know that I want anything more than today, but I’ve fought these feelings for you and they’re making me go spare. I don’t much feel like myself these days and I’ve come to the conclusion that as long as I keep denying whatever it is between us, I’ll never be happy. Astoria knew it, Potter, and she was angry with me for the longest time for wanting to bugger you, but she never spoke badly about you. She listened to me deny my feelings and she made love to me when I needed it. Last year, when you came to Malfoy Manor, she knew she’d lost me. I knew you were there the second you crossed the wards. She knew as well, because she knew the look upon my face. She told me to have a shower and that she would go downstairs and see what you wanted. I was terrified, but I did as she asked. She then came and got in the shower with me and told me you were downstairs waiting, and then she kissed me and told me it was okay, that she understood. Funny thing is, I still don’t understand, Potter. I don’t understand how she could let me go like that. It made me hate her at that moment, but then it made me love her all the more. Bloody confusing, I know, but there you have it. I knew I didn’t love her like I wanted you, but I did love her, and I would have done anything for her.”

Harry was speechless. It was clear to him that he was about to get that which he’d thought about for six years, which he wanted, but the price had been too dear, and Harry wondered if he’d ever truly have Draco. The two of them might be about to make love and make each other feel better for a time, and their bodies might want each other and not be able to remain separated, but would Harry ever truly have Draco emotionally? He doubted it, and perhaps that would be okay, but now that Harry had a part of Draco Malfoy, or was about to, he wanted all of him. It was greedy, yes, but Harry knew it was because he’d been deprived of love for much of his life.

“If this is all it’s going to be—a one off—I’ll ask you to leave, Malfoy,” Harry replied, and he cringed as he did so. If Malfoy walked out now, Harry would be beyond gutted. He wanted this so very badly. But he had to know. He’d been moved by what Draco told him, and there was much he wished to say, but he’d say none of it if this was all it was going to be. “I’d never thought of myself as a homosexual, Draco, but six years ago you made me think. I’ve always been attracted to girls, but I have to say that Ginny has never done to me what you have, and she and I have done just about everything, and you and I haven’t done much at all. I’m not sure what I want to happen between us, but I want more than just today.”

Draco laughed, but there was nothing at all insincere about it. “I think the proper term for you isn’t a homosexual, Potter. You are bi, like me. You like girls like Ginny Weasley and blokes like me, Draco Malfoy. While I can’t make promises, Potter, Astoria was a good predictor of character, and if she thought you would be good for me, I guess I need to find out.”

“So you can’t say this will be anything more than today?” Harry asked, trying, but not succeeding in keeping the disappointment out of his voice.

“No, but if you don’t stop talking, we won’t even get in today.”

Harry didn’t like what he was hearing, but as he felt on fire and as he and his cock would never forgive him if he did anything to delay its release at the hands of Draco Malfoy, he decided to care later. Whether this was only for today or forever, Harry would give himself to Draco and would deal with the repercussions tomorrow. “Have you ever done it with a bloke?” Harry asked, curious, although Malfoy’s statement that he was bi implied that perhaps there had been others. His eyes roamed over Draco as he awaited an answer, and he couldn’t quite believe this was happening, but it was, and the little boy inside of Harry was yelling and screaming, telling Dudley he finally had something that hadn’t been Dudley’s first.

“Yes. I top,” Malfoy matter-of-factly replied, looking serious and sounding very much like the Malfoy of old. “I take it you aren’t interested in the preliminaries then?” he asked, grinning.

“What? I do—“ Harry said, not understanding. He felt foolish. Was there something else they were supposed to do before? Was there an order in which everything should be done? With Ginny it had always been whatever they’d felt like at the time.

“You don’t want me to show you the delights of cock sucking first?” Draco asked, a small smile upon his face, and Harry’s eyes widened. Draco let out a chuckle.

Yes, Harry did want that, but, to be honest, he wanted something else first, but he wanted to do whatever Draco wanted. Harry cringed at his indecisiveness. He wasn’t ever this submissive in his everyday life and hated that now he was. “I just thought that we’d—“

Draco put up his hand and shook his head. “I can see you want to go straight to the buggering. We can do that. The other stuff is good and all, but nothing is as good as when cock meets arse.”

Harry quite agreed, even as he’d never done it with a bloke. There was a first time for everything and Harry was going to enjoy this. “You’re going to have to teach me what to do,” Harry said, bashfully, and, again, he felt a bit foolish for acting so meek. But this was all new to him. 

Draco allowed a small smirk. “I think I can do that. First, you need to roll over so you are on your other side so I can prepare you.” 

Harry thought Draco’s voice sounded more animated than usual as he said that last bit, and it sounded odd coming from him, but if Draco was anywhere near as excited about what was to come as Harry was, his voice sounding happy and anticipatory was spot-on. Harry closed his eyes and grinned as he did as he was told. Though he couldn’t see what Draco was about to do, he could hear Draco’s increased breathing as he retrieved something—probably lube—from the floor, and he could feel his cock move as it responded to the situation and Draco, who, from the sound of him, it seemed as if he wanted Harry just as much as Harry wanted him. Harry glanced down at his cock and grinned when he saw that it was parallel with his stomach. He was hard for Draco. So very hard. 

Draco gave Harry a few orders about breathing in and out and accepting Draco’s fingers and letting him know if they were hurting him. After Harry said okay and that he was ready, Draco breached him with that first finger, wet with lube, and Harry pushed back into it. He wanted more. This went on for what seemed like minutes, with a second and third finger added. It was nearly the best feeling Harry had ever experienced and he wasn’t sure he could hold off much longer, but he would do his best not to come early. That would be embarrassing and just might be the end of _Harry and Draco_. He sighed in frustration.

“Sorry this is taking so long, Potter,” was Draco’s unapologetic reply as he removed his three fingers. “I need you to turn over and look at me. Please.” When Harry turned over, Draco continued. “The bloke I was with when I was fifteen said I was too slow in my preparation, but my father once told me that you can never be too prepared. He told me it was my responsibility as a top to be sure my bottom never hurt. I may be an arse when it comes to most things, but when it comes to this … what we are about to do … I take it seriously. I don’t like my partners to come early, but if you do, then you do. I’m going to prepare you until I think you’re ready for me,” he said, as he looked down at his own cock, which was engorged and ready to slide into Harry’s arse. “It might hurt, but I’ll try to be careful.” 

His speech done, Draco motioned for Harry to turn over once again, and when he had, Draco took a fourth finger and began manoeuvring all four digits inside Harry, who moaned and began making all sorts of odd noises, and Draco’s fingers went deeper with each pass. When he’d prepared Harry as much as he thought necessary, he told Harry to roll onto his back, and was pleased to see Harry staring at his thick cock. Draco slowly lubed up, making a show of slathering on the lube and slicking the entire length of it. “Are you ready?” Draco asked, but it was evident he was more than ready.

Harry nodded.

Draco pushed Harry’s legs up and back so they bracketed his head, and then he began to push into Harry’s arse, which accepted him as if his cock and Harry’s arse were meant to be together, and Harry moaned as his legs came to rest upon Draco’s shoulders. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” Draco asked as he pulled out and thrust in once more.

Harry could only nod.

“Just wait. You haven’t felt anything yet,” murmured Draco before he pulled out and pushed in, making sure to hit Harry’s prostate. 

Harry had never felt anything this good. He’d orgasmed and he’d felt as if he were on fire many times, but this was by far the best feeling he’d ever experienced. Draco hit that magical spot with each successive thrust. This lasted for a blissful eternity, but all too soon Harry felt his bollocks pull up. He moaned louder. This was going to be hard. He let out a small laugh. He might even pass out, it felt so good. He closed his eyes and let his body take over. He began shaking and felt as his body came alive. Every nerve within him burned and Harry didn’t think he could take the ecstasy. It was too much. Then he felt Draco plunging into him, flooding him, and he heard Draco moaning, but it was distant. Harry saw stars.

When Harry next woke, he yawned as he listened to a dustcart pass by, then opened his eyes and reached for his glasses when he noticed he couldn’t see. He didn’t recall removing them, but he figured Draco had done so. As he retrieved them from the bedside table, he realised it was far too quiet, so he turned around, prepared for Draco not to be there, and he was proved right.

Harry’s entire body deflated.

It was a disappointment, but not anything Harry hadn’t expected. Hadn’t Draco told him he wasn’t sure he wanted anything more? Still, it hurt, but Harry would get over this as he had got over everything else in his life. And it wasn’t as if Draco really cared. Not once had he used Harry’s name when they had made love. Had he truly cared about Harry, he would have said _Harry_ at least once, wouldn’t he have? 

Harry unfolded his glasses to put them on and a piece of parchment fell out. Donning his glasses, Harry picked the small scrap of paper off the floor and wondered what it was.

 

_“I have to go into Devon to follow up on a project for work, but I’ll be back tonight. If you don’t mind, I’d rather us move this to my place tomorrow. Not that I don’t like your flat, but you have neighbours, loud lorries going by at all hours of the night and those blasted dustcarts. I prefer it better out where I live. We don’t have to worry about the surrounding noise and we also don’t have to worry about being quiet at night.”_

Harry grinned. There mightn’t be a next week or a next year, but there would be a tomorrow, and tomorrow Harry would get Draco to say his name.

**H♥DH♥DH♥DH♥DH♥DH♥DH♥D**


End file.
